


Knots

by coolbyrne



Series: New Leaves [3]
Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Abduction, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Frost's death, Jane has to deal with a new partner and the discovery of a John Doe that hides one family's history and another's tragedy. (Please note: Although this is Established Rizzles, there is no smut in this fic. It is a straight-up case file. I repeat: There is no smut in this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: My goal was to make a story that would show how Rizzles wouldn’t have to change the complexion of the show; how a relationship could be woven in the fabric of a case file. I hope I’ve succeeded!

 

My thanks as always to happycamper5, who never lets me get lazy.

 

…..

  
  


The steady rain did nothing to improve the disposition of Detective Jane Rizzoli. Hunched beneath a large umbrella, her mood was as dark as the waterproof material and her expression as uninviting as the weather.

 

“You really should stand up straight,” chastised the woman who walked beside her. “Studies have shown-”

 

“That the reason tall people have bad posture is because the shorter person always insists on holding the damn umbrella. Give me that.”

 

The doctor relinquished the handle with a quiet ‘hmph’, as they made their way to the convenience store. Identifications were given to the dripping wet officer who stood guard at the yellow police tape, and Jane gestured for Maura to enter. Before following behind, she handed the umbrella to the cop, who gave her a grateful smile.

 

“Yeah,” Jane waved away his thanks. “Just make sure I get that back on the way out. Probably cost more than your car payment.”

 

Stepping inside, she squinted in the florescent light as she took in the scene. Maura was with the body down the aisle to her right, near the milk cooler. Blood splatter was behind the counter to her left, presumably where the second victim fell. Two CSRU techs milled about, gathering whatever evidence they thought was important. And in the corner, quietly going over some notes, was her longtime partner, Vince Korsak and-

 

“Shit,” the detective muttered under her breath. _I am not ready for this_ , she thought. _Shit._ With a cop’s eye, she catalogued the man who was standing to Korsak’s left. _Mid to late 30’s. No taller than 5’11. Short, cropped hair, light brown but may be blonde in natural light. Blue eyes. Grey suit. Black shoes._ She shook her head and blew out a quick breath. She didn’t know Jil Sander from JC Penney, but she suspected that suit was wildly out of her price range. Glancing at the medical examiner, she bet Maura would know. When she turned her attention back to the previous subject, she caught his gaze and realized those blue eyes had catalogued her just as she had done to him. Jaw clenched, she made her way over.

 

Korsak quickly stepped forward to intercept. “Two victims, looks like gunshot.”

 

“Yeah,” she replied, looking over his shoulder. “I got the same call. What’s he doing here?”

 

“I told you he was starting on the 6th. Or don’t you remember?”

 

She ignored the veiled jab. “It’s not the 6th. It’s…” she flicked out her wrist and frowned at her watch’s betrayal. “Shit.”

 

He shook his head. “Jane, you knew this was coming. I told you I wanted to talk to you about it last week. You kept putting me off. So I left his file on your desk. Did you read it?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Of course I did.”

 

With a look of innocence, he asked, “What’s his name?”

 

She focused on something to her right as she tried to deflect the question. Knowing it was no use, she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t remember, okay?”

 

“You don’t remember, or you don’t know?” Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Come on. I think it’s time you meet your new partner.”

 

Reluctantly, she followed behind until she was standing in front of the well-dressed man. His cell phone was pressed against his ear and his eyes were focussed on the floor. He spoke a few words, slipped the phone into his pocket, then looked up.

 

“Detective Rizzoli, this is Ash Brooks,” Korsak introduced the pair. “Detective Brooks, Jane Rizzoli.”

 

Brooks held out a hand that was casually ignored. “Nice scar,” she commented, for the first time noticing the thin white line that ran diagonally across his right eye.

 

His eyes slowly glanced down to her left hand, then up to her face again. “You, too.”

 

She didn’t hide her hand, though she clenched it around the butt of her gun. “What have we got?”

 

“Two vics, both gunshots,” he said.

 

“Anything less obvious?”

 

Korsak threw her a hard stare, but Brooks carried on without comment. “I was just on the phone with Mr. Juan Barros, owner of this fine establishment. He’s on his way, but he lives in Quincy. Not sure what that means.”

 

“About 40 minutes away,” Korsak supplied helpfully.

 

“Ah,” Brooks nodded. “He’s got off-site security cameras but he doesn’t remember the info we need to take a look. It’s locked in the office.” He jerked his head to the back of the store.

 

Korsak frowned. “So he doesn’t have tape recorders here?”

 

Brooks chuckled at the term. “No. It’s all port-forwarded to his laptop at home. But he logs in automatically, so he doesn’t know his password or the IP address of his router which we need to see the video. It’s written down on a piece of paper in the safe.”

 

“Let’s hope he remembers his safe combo,” Korsak sighed.

 

“Agreed, because the extent of my computer knowledge is what I just read you off this.” He held up his notepad.

 

Korsak shared the wry grin. “You and me both, buddy.”

 

“We’ll get Frankie to take a look,” Jane flatly said. “See if those courses are paying off.” She turned and started towards Maura. When she was within earshot, she smirked, “Twenty bucks says it was a gunshot wound that killed him,” she said, pointing at the victim.

 

“I want you to know I won’t enjoy taking your money,” Maura smiled. She opened her mouth to say more, but the image of the new detective stopped her. Openly appreciating the cut of his suit, she asked, “Tom Ford?”

 

“No. Ash Brooks,” he replied.

 

She frowned, then realized her misstep. “Oh. No, I meant, is your suit Tom Ford?”

 

Taking off a glove, he smiled and held out his hand. She slipped hers off to return the gesture. “Coco Chanel?” he asked.

 

Identifying his question as banter, her own smile was broad and warm. “No. Maura Isles.”

 

“Great, Fashion Comedy Hour is over,” Jane interrupted. “Why are you going to take my money?”

 

Maura's attention turned to the brunette. They had been together for over a year, but it didn't take intimacy to see the storm brewing in the detective. Maura's own look was an inquisitive one, but she knew enough to save the questions for later. So instead, she replied, "While the victim was indeed shot, the location of the wound shouldn’t have been life threatening.” She crouched down, and with her gloved hand, tilted the victim 's head to the side.

 

Jane peered closer. "He hit his head."

 

"It appears so, yes. Of course, I won't know for certain until I perform the autopsy."

 

"Of course." Jane couldn't help but smile.

 

Before any further questions could be asked, the familiar face of CSRU tech Mark Jensen leaned in the doorway. "Rizzoli," he greeted. "You guys are gonna wanna take a look at this." He didn’t wait to see if they followed.

 

The night air was cool, though thankfully, the rain had petered out to a light drizzle. The attending officer gave Maura a sheepish smile when she walked by and quizzically eyed his umbrella. The CSRU man waved them over to a nearby van.

 

Liam Fitzgerald lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “Korsak. Dr. Isles. Rizzo.” He grinned at the Jane’s unamused expression. “New Guy.” He jerked his thumb at the white vehicle. “We tied off the area and started prepping it for photos. Thought maybe the van belonged to one of the victims, so I wasn’t looking for much.”

 

“Will we get to the moral of the story before breakfast, Fitz?” Jane asked.

 

“Whatever,” he said. “Anyway, I checked the doors. All locked. Took a look in the window.” He stepped aside.

 

Korsak was the first to step forward. “There’s a dead guy in there.”

 

“See, Fitz,” Jane admonished. “That’s how you get to the point.” To her partner, she said, “Let me look.” She framed her face with her hands and peeked inside the dark window. “Yep, that’s a dead guy.”

 

Fitzgerald produced a slim jim. “I got this, Rizzo.” The tech winked and made short work of the lock. He popped the handle, and with a flourish, slid back the side door.

 

“You’re so lucky I like you, Fitz, I swear to God.”

 

Maura moved in close and leaned into the van. “Can I borrow your flashlight, Mr. Fitzgerald?” When he helpfully supplied one, she continued, “Male, between 15 and 20, most likely died elsewhere.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Brooks asked, peering closer.

 

“So he does speak,” Fitzgerald said.

 

Maura ignored the jibe and turned to the detective. “See this mark here?” She pointed to a long raw line against the victim’s neck. “They’re called ‘furrows’, and you only see them in hangings or strangulations. Normally, I wouldn’t comment on either option before an autopsy-”

 

“No!” Jane gasped in mock-surprise.

 

“However,” she glared at the brunette, “this void, posterior to the left ear?”

 

“Yes, I see it,” he nodded.

 

“In hangings, it’s synonymous with the placement of a knot. Also note the furrow crosses above the larynx.”

 

Brooks narrowed his eyes. “The weight of the body causes the noose to jerk up under the chin.”

 

“Correct.”

 

“So he’s not part of the getaway team,” Korsak stated.

 

“No,” the doctor replied. “I would say this death is independent of the two in the convenience store.”

 

Jane rubbed her face. “It’s way too early for this.” Taking a deep sigh, she gathered herself and informed Korsak. “I’ll take this. Why don’t you and… Brooks,” the name sounded odd as she said it for the first time, “take the two inside?”

 

Korsak frowned, clearly aware that she was simply avoiding. Just as he was about to say something, Brooks spoke up. “Okay. Dr. Isles, if you could take a quick look at the vic behind the counter, we can probably wrap this up when the owner gets here.”

 

Maura stood up straight. “Of course, Detective Brooks. I’ll meet you inside.” Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Jane, and asked with a soft yet disapproving voice, “What’s going on?”

 

The detective shrugged. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’?”

 

“Jane,” she sighed, “I know this isn’t easy for you. Do you think it’s easy for Sergeant Korsak?” The two watched through the store window as he appeared to be talking to Jensen. Resting a hand on Jane’s arm, she asked, “Do you think it’s easy for me?”

 

“Maura, I don’t… do we have to do this here?”

 

“No, we don’t. But _you_ have to do it some time. And soon.”

 

Fitzgerald’s obvious cough ended the conversation. “You want me to prep the body for delivery?”

 

Her attention diverted, she answered,“Yes, thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’ll sign off once you have everything processed. Just come find me inside.”

 

“Will do.”

 

“I’ll stay here with Fitz,” Jane said. “See if I can piece together anything.”

 

“Okay,” she replied with a gentle smile. “Don’t leave without me. And don’t forget my umbrella.”

 

…..

 

The two men entered the bullpen and Brooks marvelled at the stillness. “Are we the only ones working?”

 

Korsak chuckled. “The seniors get the 8-6 shift, but we’re also the ones who get the early morning call during the week. Night crew comes in and works the 6-4. You’ll run into them around 5:30 when we have a short overlap.”

 

Brooks took in the information. “Doesn’t seem fair to the senior crew, having to cover 4 am to 8, then working their full shift.”

 

“We had a swing shift a while back,” Korsak told him. “Some guys who would cover 4-9, but budgets got cut. We just gotta do what we can. We get weekends off, so I guess we can’t complain.”

 

“Is there going to be any hard feelings because I got the senior shift?”

 

The older man shrugged. “You’re always gonna get someone not happy with something.”

 

“True.” He glanced around the empty room. “Where do you want me to set up?”

 

“Why don’t you sit across from Jane?”

 

“That should be fun,” he drolly replied and walked towards the empty desk.

 

Korsak smiled. “Give her time. It’s…”

 

Holding up a hand, Brooks said, “I get it, Sergeant, I do. It’s going to be tough for everyone at first.”

 

“Call me ‘Vince’ or ‘Korsak’,” he corrected, making his way to his own desk. “And you’re right; it’s not going to be easy for anyone. This situation, in particular, is a hard one.”

 

Brooks sat and gazed at the action figure on the desk. “I heard about Detective Frost.” He looked over to Korsak. “I’m sorry.”

 

Korsak covered his surprise. “Lieutenant Cavanaugh tell you?”

 

“Nah,” Brooks replied, “I found out on my own. Figured I should know the situation before I came into it.”

 

“It’s been almost 6 months, but...it’s tough.”

 

He nodded. “Of course. I’m only gonna try and make things easier.”

 

“You can start by telling criminals to stop committing crimes at 5 in the damn morning,” Jane groaned, stepping into the room. She stopped suddenly, seeing Brooks at the desk. With a glance at Korsak and a steady breath, she took four long strides to her chair.

 

As she wordlessly reached for the action figure perched on Brooks’ desk, he said, “I always wanted one of these as a kid. Guardian Chogokin.” He leaned forward and peered at the figure. “It’s like Russian nesting dolls.”

 

“Huh?” Korsak asked.

 

He sat up and pointed at the toy. “There’s a guy that goes into a small robot that goes into a slightly larger robot that goes into the blue robot.”

 

The sergeant shook his head in wonder. “No kidding.”

 

“Does it come with all the figures?” Brooks asked Jane.

 

She withdrew her hand, though she left the robot where it stood. “I don’t know,” she replied flatly. “Have you guys done anything yet or just talk about toys?”

 

Brooks waved Korsak over. “Do you think you can boot up this computer?” he asked. “Lieu said I need to talk to the IT guys this morning to get set up.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” The older man stood and walked to the computer.

 

“Don’t know why you’re pretending it’s a secret,” Jane scoffed. “Everyone knows your password is ‘password123’.”

 

“That’s not true,” he replied. Then, after a brief pause, added, “It’s ‘password123’ with an exclamation point. Tech guys told me I needed to jazz it up.” Job done, he returned to his chair.

 

Jane leaned back and folded her hands across her stomach. “You’ve got the gun and the badge but not the clearance,” she remarked to the man across the desk. “When did you get here?”

 

“Came to the station on Friday to talk to Lieutenant Cavanaugh, but I’ve been in Boston since Monday. Had to set up a place to stay.” He sat back and mirrored her pose.

 

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “Where are you staying?”

 

“Got a little place in Bay Village.”

 

She nodded in appreciation. “Nice area. Kinda small considering you’re coming from New York.”

 

Shrugging, he said, “I needed a change of environment. It’s quiet. Haven’t had that for a long time.”

 

“And you were with the Drug Unit?”

 

“Manhattan Narcotics.”

 

“How long were you with them?”

 

His eyes flicked over to the file on her desk and back to her. “Eight years.”

 

“Married?”

 

The ghost of a smile played across his lips. “Divorced.”

 

“Three times, buddy,” Korsak piped up.

 

Brooks blew out a snort of amusement. Looking over his shoulders, he said to Jane, “Listen, I’m sure there’s an interrogation room around here if you want to continue.”

 

Jane’s eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Sorry. It’s the cop in me.”

 

“Sure,” he answered, holding her gaze. After several long seconds, he stood. “I’m guessing as the new guy, it’s my job to make the coffee. Where would that be?”

 

Korsak pointed to the far corner. “Don’t worry if it tastes like shit - it always tastes like shit. Three sugars in mine.”

 

Brooks glanced back at Jane, his look a silent prompt.

 

“Two sugars, no cream,” she said, then tilted her head towards Korsak. “And he’ll have 1 sugar or I’ll tell Maura.”

 

“It’s not even 6 in the morning,” he whined, but got no reprieve. “Fine. One sugar.”

 

As Brooks walked away, Korsak shot her a look, one she knew had nothing to do with her changing his coffee order. The new detective had quickly caught on to her line of questioning, and so did Korsak. Hiding her guilt with a shrug, she mouthed, “What?”

 

“Ugh,” Brooks groaned from the corner. “How old is this machine? Christ.”

 

Korsak laughed and let him off the hook. “There’s a Boston Joe’s down at the end of the street. Why don’t you head down that way and get us some real coffee?”

 

“You okay with that?”

 

“As long as you’re okay with buying.”

 

Brooks nodded with a smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

“Change hers to a triple power latte and mine to a double espresso.” He glared at Jane. “One sugar.”

 

“All right. Back in a few.”

 

Once the detective was out of sight, Korsak spun his attention to Jane. “What the hell was that all about?”

 

She turned on her computer and stared at the monitor. “What was what about?”

 

“Don’t play that game with me, Jane. You treated him like a suspect. You don’t think he figured that out?”

 

“You were right about me not reading the file,” she told him with a shrug. “I was just trying to catch up.”

 

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You’re trying to make him feel uncomfortable. You’re only making me feel uncomfortable.” He let his words settle before continuing, “What’s going on with this body in the van?”

 

“I’m waiting for the guys to run all the prints, see if they’re in the system. The plates came up empty so I’ve got to wait for the RMV to open. No I.D on the victim, so I’m hoping whatever Maura finds on the body will help us work backward to identify this kid. ”

 

“The store owner gave us the info to access his security. I figure that’s what Brooks’ll do when he gets back.”

 

Jane tapped a pen against her chin. “Think there’s a link here?”

 

“Between the body in the van and the two in the store? Who knows. Doesn’t look likely, but I’ve seen stranger cases. In the meantime,” he said with a nod towards her desktop, “why don’t you read it?”

 

She glanced at the file and with a sigh of resignation, flipped open the folder.

 

…..

 

Maura looked up from the table and was surprised at the face in the window. Seeing his silent request, she smiled and waved him in.

 

"Detective Brooks," she said warmly.

 

"Dr. Isles." He stepped inside and held up a tray of cups. "I was nominated to go to Boston Joe's. Thought I'd drop off your drink and see how you were doing with the shooting victims this morning."

 

"I was just about to start the first autopsy," she said, coming from behind the table. She took the cup labelled 'DRI' and gave him a questioning look.

 

He smiled. "I'd like to take the credit of being a mind reader, but it was the barista. Once I started ordering Detective Rizzoli's triple power latte, the girl knew the rest of the order straight away, yours included. If you take anything extra in it, I'm sorry."

 

"No, no, this is perfect," she assured him as she took a sip. "I don't have anything to tell you yet about the victims."

 

"Do you mind if I watch?"

 

She blinked, slightly surprised by his question. "Most detectives don't feel the need to witness the autopsy."

 

"Does Detective Rizzoli?" He let the question hang for a moment before saying, "I don't feel the _need_ to watch, but I'd like to see the process. I can leave though, if you'd rather-"

 

"No, it's fine," she smiled. "I warn you, the coffee will get cold."

 

"I won't stay for the whole thing," he promised. "How long does one of these take?"

 

She put her drink down on a table away from the body and gestured for Brooks to do the same. Donning a pair of gloves and handing him a pair of his own, she said, "From the initial processing to the final closure, anywhere between two and four hours, depending on the state of the body and the manner of death." She glanced down at the clipboard to her right. "Based on the initial findings, I would estimate Mr. Tava's autopsy to lean towards the two hour mark."

 

"Yeah, I better not stay for the whole thing. Everyone might go rogue upstairs if they have to wait that long."

 

"If at any time you feel nauseated, please try to make it to the sink behind you." With no further instruction, she pulled down the sheet to the victim's waist. "He's already been cleaned, combed, and cut," she said. "DNA samples of hair and debris are all collected before we can do the physical autopsy. That takes up a good portion of the process." She waited for his nod of understanding before gently resting the tip of her scalpel just below the body's collarbone, beginning the Y incision. She noted that the detective's blue eyes didn't flinch, and she quietly continued.

 

Thirty minutes into the procedure, Maura stepped back and rolled her neck. Beyond breathing and blinking, she was certain Brooks hadn't moved the entire time.

 

"You're very quiet," she remarked.

 

He mimicked the release of tension in his neck. "Sorry. You just seem to really know what you're doing and I didn't want to interrupt with a bunch of questions. Should I talk more?"

 

She chuckled. "First of all, please don't ever feel you can't ask me a question. You'll find I’m more than happy to answer them. Some might say much, much too happy. Second, I'm just accustomed to Jane filling the silence."

 

If she wondered how he interpreted her comment, he quickly answered the unspoken question. His eyes went down to the watch on Maura's wrist. "Anniversary gift?" he asked.

 

"What?" She subconsciously touched the piece of jewelry.

 

His voice lowered softly, putting her at ease. "I saw Detective Rizzoli wearing the same watch. I wouldn't think you both shopped at Tag Heuer unless it was a special occasion."

 

Maura sighed at the memory. "You have no idea how hard it was to convince her to spend the money. But it was the only thing she would wear to work."

 

"So it was an anniversary gift."

 

"Of sorts. It marked five years of knowing each other."

 

"Wow," he praised. "You've been together for five years?"

 

"Well, not exactly." She saw the confusion in his eyes. "We've only been together for little over a year. But we met five years ago. I'm sure it sounds very silly."

 

"Not at all," he told her. "I'm divorced. Who am I to judge?"

 

They shared a smile and she looked down at the watch. "Not that I find your presence unwelcome, but if you don't get those coffees upstairs, I'm afraid you might be on my table before your first day is over."

 

He checked his own watch. "Shit." Scooping up the tray of drinks, he dashed for the door, pausing mid-exit to say, "Thanks for your time, Dr. Isles. Much appreciated."

 

"If I come up with anything contrary to what I've already found, I'll be sure to let you know."

 

He raised a hand in acknowledgement, and the door softly closed behind him.

 

.....

 

"Were they growing the damn beans?" Jane said practically ripping the drink from his hand.

 

"Don't mind her, Brooks," Korsak said, appreciatively accepting his coffee. "But, let that be a lesson to you. Keep the bear happy." He made an exaggerated angry face and tilted his head in Jane's direction.

 

"Whatever, Dr. Doolittle," she shot back.

 

Brooks watched the banter between the partners before explaining, "I stopped by the morgue to talk to Dr. Isles."

 

The cup stopped mid-way to Jane's lips. "You did what?"

 

Brooks looked around for a microwave. "Yeah. The barista assumed I was there to get a drink for everyone, so she gave me some green foam latte thing for Dr. Isles. I stopped by to give it to her and watched a bit of the autopsy."

 

She watched him as he set his cup in the microwave on the other side of the room. "Why would you do that?"

 

He shrugged and leaned against the table. "Never seen an autopsy before. And I wanted to go over the probable cause of death."

 

"Bang, bang," Jane said with a dismissive roll of her eyes.

 

"Yep," he replied, continuing as if was a suggestion rather than a retort. "But it never hurts to hear it from someone in a better position to make that determination than me."

 

Her jaw clenched at the well-placed volley and she swivelled in her chair to get Korsak's support. She was dismayed to only find a blank look of neutrality. "Besides the obvious, what did you find?" She threw the question over her shoulder.

 

Returning with a steaming cup, he sat down at his desk and carefully took a sip. "She showed me some angles and tossed in ballistic coefficient, Pythagorean’s Theorem, percentage of gunshot residue, and a bunch of other stuff I only half-understood and told me the shooter couldn’t be more than 5’2”, 5’3” tops.”

 

“If you understood half of that, it’s twice as much as me,” Korsak commented. Pointing to his monitor, he said, “According to the annual crimes stats, that convenience store is in one of the hottest spots in Boston. Almost 3000 reports last year.”

 

Brooks whistled. “That’s about half of the entire Manhattan North.”

 

“So I figure, maybe it’s off the books, maybe they work with the borough police, but I got a hunch there’s some kind of Neighbourhood Watch.”

 

The younger man nodded, following the thought. “We need to go back, knock on some doors, see if anyone saw anything.”

 

“You got it,” Korsak replied. “Might wanna wait until the clock hits double-digits, though. Less likely to piss off folks.”

 

“Right. In the meantime, I’m gonna see if I can get this video to work.”

 

Jane stood and Korsak frowned. “Where are you going?”

 

She stretched her arms overhead and basked in the satisfying crack of her back. “There’s got to be some results in,” she said. “Fingerprints, hair, tox, something. I’m at a standstill without them.”

 

Korsak let her leave without comment, but stopped her when she got to the door. “If there’s nothing to work with, you can help Brooks do the door-to-door.” There was no room for misunderstanding in his tone: it was an order, not a suggestion.

 

Though she didn’t turn around, her body language spoke volumes. Shoulders tensed and hands clenched, she gave a terse, “Yep,” and stiffly left the room.

 

…..

 

“What a jackass,” Jane growled as she barrelled into the morgue.

 

Maura didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork. “I didn’t see Detective Crowe today.”

 

The brunette flopped onto a chair and snorted. “Good one, Maura. No, I meant Korsak.”

 

Maura raised her head sharply. “Vince is a wonderful man. Why would you say such a thing?”

 

“Can you go back to calling him ‘Sergeant Korsak’? It’s weird.” When no reply came from the doctor, Jane sighed. “Fine. _Vince_ ,” she primly enunciated the name, “wants me to do a door-to-door with… the new guy.”

 

Cocking her head to the side, Maura repeated, “The new guy?”

 

“Yeah, you know. The guy… my new partner.”

 

“Ah, I remember,” she answered brightly. “He of No Name.”

 

This only ilicted another exaggerated sigh. “Detective Brooks. Happy?”

 

Maura ignored the sarcasm and said, “Perhaps Vince thinks this is a good time for you to get to know each other.”

 

“I flipped through his file. I know all I need to know.” She shifted in her seat. “Though there are some gaps in his history that I don’t like.”

 

“So this would be a good time to fill in the gaps, wouldn’t you say?” When the detective averted her eyes, Maura narrowed hers. “I see. You started to ask him questions, but it turned into an interrogation?”

 

“I hate that you can read me so well.”

 

“No you don’t,” Maura replied, shaking her head. “You love that I can read you so well because it means you can resort to your preferred forms of communication: eye blinks and shoulder shrugs.”

 

Jane avoided the gentle accusation with a shoulder shrug. “Dammit!” She glared at the laughing doctor. “You two seem to have hit it off.”

 

It was an abrupt change in topic that clearly caught the medical examiner off-guard. “Sorry?”

 

Jane nonchalantly waved a hand in the air. “I saw you two at the crime scene. Both of you all, ‘Ain’t fashion grand?’ Didn’t take him long to come down here and pick up where he left off.”

 

Maura inhaled a slow calming breath through her nose. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she said, “It was even better. After the foreplay of the new Vogue magazine, we ‘did it’ on the dead person’s table. I can finally strike that one off of my bucket list.”

 

Had the thought not been so repulsive, Jane might have laughed at the air quotes. Instead, she grimaced and said, “Why did you have to go there? Gross!”

 

Sitting back again, Maura scoffed, “It’s no more ridiculous than you thinking Detective Brooks came down here to flirt.”

 

“I can’t believe he came down here to see an autopsy. I mean, look at you. All Coco Chanel. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with you?”

 

Maura shook her head and smiled. “You can be the sweetest person sometimes. In the oddest of ways. He wanted to know if there was anything specific about the shootings that might give him an extra lead. I gave him my hypothesis-”

 

“And a severe case of the brain cramps,” Jane chuckled.

 

“Perhaps I should have walked him through it a bit better, yes,” she admitted. “But he seemed quite attentive.”

 

“Did he really watch the autopsy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jane’s mouth twitched. “Did he vomit?”

 

“No. Surprisingly, he didn’t do much of anything. He just watched very closely.” She looked off to the side, remembering the moment. “I almost found his silence unsettling, then I remembered the only other detective who watches me do an autopsy is you.”

 

Jane held Maura’s gaze before raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me I talk too much?” She watched as the blonde lightly scratched her neck. “You haven’t even answered me yet.”

 

“It’s preemptive anticipation.”

 

“Hmph,” the detective hummed. “So that’s it? He just came down to ask about the case and watch an autopsy?”

 

“And to bring me my coffee.” Her face lit up. “Oh, and to congratulate us on our anniversary.”

 

“What? You told him?”

 

“I didn’t have to,” Maura replied. “I told you, he’s very observant. He noticed the watch.”

 

Jane frowned. “And from that, he figured out we were together?”

 

“From the fact you’re wearing the same watch,” she corrected. “He seemed very supportive of our relationship.”

 

“Was this before or after you two did the nasty on the dead person’s table?”

 

“Oh, after,” Maura answered brightly.

 

“You’re not funny.”

 

The blonde stood and made her way to Jane. Pulling her up lightly with her fingertips, she kissed her hard on the mouth. Fingers laced and they held the moment between them like a taut string. Releasing the tension, Maura pulled back and softly traced the dimple in the brunette’s chin.

 

“Does it hurt your knees jumping to all those conclusions?”

 

Jane glowered. “I’m pretty sure you’re patronizing me now.”

 

“Only now?” Maura winked and walked over to her desk. “CSRU found a set of keys outside the store that fit the van. Would you like a copy of the fingerprints?” Jane snatched the folder from her hand and Maura laughed. Moving in close once again, she continued, “Susie is doing the preliminary work on your John Doe. She’s already sent some trace evidence to the lab, but you know they won’t be done until, at least, lunchtime.” She peppered her sentences with light kisses. “I will let you know the minute I have something to tell you. The second. Now go and do your job with your new partner. What’s his name?”

 

Jane rolled her eyes and allowed Maura to gently push her towards the door. “Detective Brooks.” She was almost into the hallway when she turned back and asked, “Really? The dead person’s table is on your bucket list? Because I’d make that work. For you.”

 

Maura lowered her head and laughed. “Go!”

 

…..

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
  


…..

 

She looked around when she re-entered the bullpen. "Where's Korsak?"

 

"Little Sergeants’ room," Brooks replied, eyes fixed to his monitor, pen poised over a pad of paper.

 

Jane checked the time. "Seven-thirty," she groaned and dropped into her seat. Rubbing her eyes, she said to no one, "Why does it feel like I've already been up forever?"

 

Brooks looked over the screen and asked, "Dr. Isles give you anything?"

 

She was certain she saw a smirk, but chose to ignore it. "She said she'd have something for me at lunch." There was no doubting the smirk now, and she groaned inwardly at the innuendo. "Results. Test results. In the meantime, I’ve got a billion fingerprints to go through to see if any match these.” She held up the folder. Seeing his raised eyebrow, she said, “Set of keys near the van.” She placed the copy in the scanner and brought up the image on her computer. Feigning disinterest, she asked, “What have you been doing?"

 

"Playing and replaying the video. The store only has two cameras - one over the counter and one pointing at the door. Our guy comes in with his little entourage at 4:22. One breaks off and goes to get a Coke. The shooter and his bro hover around the chips. They’re waiting for a customer to leave.” He taps the screen with his pen. “Soon as he’s gone, shooter turns to the clerk. There’s no audio, but you can figure out the gist. ‘Give me the money.’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘Open the register or I’ll shoot.’ Et cetera.” She nodded at his pantomime. “Sees the clerk reach under the counter. Panics. Shoots. The three stooges book it, but notice Victim #2 huddled down the aisle and stop long enough to shoot him, too.”

 

“Clerk reaching for a weapon? We didn’t get the call for over an hour, so it couldn’t have been the panic button.”

 

“Baseball bat,” he replied. “Stupid bastard. Should’ve just handed over the money.”

 

Jane sighed and shrugged. “Maybe he thought he’d get shot either way.”

 

He acknowledged the point with a faint bow of his head. “I figure once the geek squad comes in, I can have them freeze frame some of these images and print them up. There’s movement outside the store that’s got me puzzled, too.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

His brow furrowed. “He’s pointing the gun at the clerk, but takes a quick look to his left.”

 

“Maybe he was just making sure no one was coming in,” she said.

 

“Nah, I don’t think so. Wouldn’t that be what his friends were for? They should be on lookout. I think something moves and distracts him.”

 

Jane leaned her elbows on her desk and propped her chin in her hands. “Well, the good news is, the geek squad’s already here. Frankie!” she bellowed.

 

“Christ, Janie, not all of us are awake yet, you know?” A younger, male version of Jane entered the bullpen and pulled a face at her volume.

 

Jane watched as Brooks gave Frankie the once over, before looking back at her. “Let me guess - you two are related.”

 

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “How’d you know?”

 

“Careful,” Jane warned.

 

Brooks snorted and pointed at the I.D. card clipped to Frankie’s belt. The younger Rizzoli glanced down. “Ah, right. Pretty good.” He stuck a hand out in greeting. “Frankie Rizzoli, the younger yet way better version.”

 

“Ash Brooks,” he said, returning the handshake.

 

“Yeah, from New York, right?” Frankie asked. “This has gotta be a change of pace from the Drug Unit. And a case on your first day, to boot.” He glanced over at Jane. “I hear you two got called in for a convenience store shoot up and found a body in a van?”

 

“Two-for-one,” Jane replied. “Yay.”

 

“So what can I do?”

 

“We got footage from the store,” Brooks told him, “so I’m hoping you can get some half decent images I can take with me when I do the door-to-door.”

 

Frankie nodded. “Sure, sure. Straight forward enough. We got a whole room to do this sorta thing.” He tilted his head in the direction of BRIC. “Grab the USB and let’s see what we can do.” When he saw Brooks stand but not Jane, he gave her a questioning look.

 

“I’m working the van angle. In fact,” she said brightly, “when you two are done, why don’t you help with the door-to-door?”

 

“Really? Korsak won’t mind?”

 

Jane shrugged and ignored her internal warning bells. “He’ll be fine. There’s enough work here to go around.”

 

“Okay, great.” Frankie turned to Brooks. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, I’m gonna need someone to drive. I don’t have the first clue where I’m going.”

 

“It’s settled. Great. Shoo.” Jane waved them away and turned her attention back to her monitor and the flickering images of a billion fingerprints.

 

…..

 

“So how you likin’ Boston so far?”

 

The two men entered the large resource room and Brooks whistled at the wall of monitors. “Nice,” he praised, then realized it wasn’t the answer he meant to give. “Sorry. Haven’t seen much of it, to be honest. Just got in a week ago. Still just trying to memorize the way to work and back.”

 

Frankie grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. If you ever wanna know some good restaurants or pubs. let me know. I was Traffic for three years. Foot patrol.”

 

“Beat cop.” Brooks nodded his approval. “Tough job.”

 

“Boring ass job, more like it. Here, give me the stick.”

 

Brooks placed it in Frankie’s outstretched hand and pulled up a chair to the nearest computer. After the click of a few buttons, the file came up on the wall of screens.

 

“You just want a good shot or two, right?”

 

“Yeah, just something clear I can show people.”

 

“Okay, well…” he zoomed in on a shot taken from the camera above the counter. “This is a pretty good one. Nice and close.” He paused the image and clicked the mouse. The nearby printer whirred to life. “Let’s see if we can get a full body shot.” Changing to the second camera angle, he let the video play out, frame by frame, until he saw something he liked. “How about that one?”

 

“Looks good.” Brooks leaned in closer. “What’s that around his right ankle? Is that… what is that?”

 

Frankie squinted. “I think it’s some kind of bandanna. A white bandanna?” He tried to magnify it as much as he could without ruining the clarity. “Not much I can do with these security files,” he admitted. “If stores actually have them, they always go the cheap option. But yeah, I think it’s a white bandanna. Some kinda white cloth.”

 

Brooks pursed his lips and gave it some thought. “I wonder if it’s some kind of gang thing?”

 

“Good thinkin’,” Frankie said. “You should take one down to the Gang Unit. Talk to Stu Greaves. If it’s gang related, he’d know about it.”

 

“Stu Greaves. Got it.”

 

“Anything else you need here?”

 

“Actually, there is one more thing.” He tapped the desk monitor with his finger. “If you let this roll, you’ll see the shooter look over to his left after he shoots the clerk. I think there’s someone outside, looking in.”

 

Frankie pressed ‘play’ and let the video continue. It didn’t take long to see what Brooks meant. “Yeah, right there. Too bad this is the only angle that’ll help. The one over the counter doesn’t have a wide enough lens to catch it.” He zoomed in as best he could.

 

“You can’t click-clack a few buttons and clear that up?”

 

Laughing, Frankie said, “I wish. I see all that shit on TV cop shows, like they can I.D a vic from a reflection in a raindrop. Makes me wanna tear my hair out.”

 

Brooks couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah, that’s what I figured, but I thought maybe Boston had super technology or something.”

 

“I’m sure it’s not in the budget.” He looked at the image again. “I mean, it’s clearly someone looking in. But getting anything more than that? I wish I could help you.”

 

“Nah, you’ve been great, thanks Frankie. We’ll just have to work with what we got.”

 

“No problem, man. That’s why I’m here. You still up for the door-to-door?”

 

“Let me go talk to Greaves first. Get what I can there.”

 

“Sure. Why don’t I meet you in the cafe downstairs? Say about 30 minutes?”

 

Brooks collected the photos and glanced at his watch. “All right. See you in thirty.”

 

…..

  
  


The cafe was bustling with the last minute rush of the 9-5 workers who were trying to jump start their day with a cup of coffee. Brooks scanned the small selection of tables for one of the few familiar faces he knew. When there was no sign of Frankie, he found a 2-seater and sat down. He was immediately greeted by a smiling, affable older woman.

 

"You're a new face," she said warmly.

 

He extended his hand. "Ash Brooks. First day."

 

Her eyes lit up. "You're Janie's new partner." She shook her head as if reminding herself of her manners. Taking his hand, she said, "Angela Rizzoli. I'm Jane's mother. I advise you not to call her 'Janie'."

 

He threw his head back and laughed. Then, with narrowed eyes, he looked around the room. "Are there more of you?"

 

It took a moment for his words to register. "Oh, you mean us Rizzolis? Well, there is another one, Tommy, but he doesn't work here."

 

"A Mr. Rizzoli?"

 

She slowly raised an eyebrow. "Are you flirting with me, Detective Brooks?" Her wink put him at ease, though she quickly grew solemn. “You take care of my Jane,” she said.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“It’s been a tough year. Barry’s death took a lot out of her. Out of all of us.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“So give her some leeway,” she appealed. “But not too much, or she’ll run all over you.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Don’t mention her father.”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

She patted his arm. “And stop calling me ‘ma’am’.”

 

“Yes, m-Mrs. Rizzoli.”

 

“You can call me ‘Angela’. Now, can I get you a coffee?”

 

Brooks took a look around the room. “Actually, Mrs- Angela, I’m waiting for your son.”

 

As if on cue, Frankie stepped into the cafe. “Ma,” he said as he approached the table, “it’s his first day!”

 

She offered her cheek for a kiss and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Frankie rolled his eyes. “You mean you haven’t given Detective Brooks here the rundown of the Rizzoli clan? Haven’t subtly warned him of an ancient Italian curse if he lets anything happen to Jane?”

 

“I did no such thing,” she replied, “and I’m shocked you would even suggest it.”

 

Frankie looked at Brooks. “She was quite welcoming,” the detective said.

 

“Only because she didn’t have enough time to get that far,” he snorted. “Ma, we gotta go.”

 

“Let me get you some coffee and a muffin.”

 

“Ma! We haven’t got time.”

 

Brooks stood and tilted his head at the matriarch. “It was lovely to meet you, Angela. We’ll swing by when we get back.”

 

“See?” Angela said, pointing at Brooks but talking to her son. “Is it so hard to give your poor old mother 5 minutes of your time?” She turned her attention to Brooks. “It was a pleasure to meet you, too. Be safe. Both of you.”

 

…..

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Frankie said.

 

Brooks pulled on the passenger door and looked across the roof of the car. “For what?”

 

“My mother,” he replied. “She can be a bit, well... as Jane says, you can’t spell ‘smother’ without ‘mother’.”

 

Laughing, Brooks slid into the car and waited for Frankie to do the same. “She seemed quite delightful. Your mother, I mean.”

 

Frankie’s mouth twitched in amusement and put the key into the ignition. Rather than commenting further about Jane, he suggested, “Maybe we can switch mothers sometime.” When his quip received no response, he quickly backtracked. “Sorry, man. I didn’t think… I mean, I don’t know you.”

 

The seat belt clicked into place. “No, you don’t know me, so no reason to apologize. My father was out of the picture pretty quick, and my mother died shortly after. Her mother raised me.”

 

“Shit,” Frankie said, merging the car into traffic. “Well, I’m still sorry.” Brooks shrugged, and the two rode in comfortable silence. Several minutes passed before Frankie asked, “Did you find out anything from the Gang guys?”

 

“Right,” Brooks replied. “Yeah. You called it; it was a white bandanna. Greaves said it’s an initiation process for a gang called the Roxbury Crew. Where you have the bandanna tells other members where you are in the crew. So if you wear it on your head, you’re a top dog; wear it in your back pocket, you’re a bit lower on the chain, that kinda thing. Around the ankle means you’re trying out for the crew.”

 

“Let me guess,” Frankie said. “You gotta commit a crime before getting promoted.”

 

The detective nodded. “And it’s based on the number and severity of crimes. Very organized promotion system, says Greaves.”

 

“Gang union. Who woulda thought?”

 

“Same as New York,” Brooks said. “All sorts of power plays and rules. Don’t wear the doo-rag this way. Don’t make a sign that way. Same everywhere, I guess.”

 

“I guess,” Frankie conceded. “So, I gotta ask: Yankees or Mets?”

 

This got a laugh from Brooks, but rather than answer, he pointed at a familiar building. “That’s the store.”

 

Pulling into a nearby spot, Frankie threw the car into park and killed the engine. “What’s the game plan?”

 

Brooks took in the neighbourhood through the windshield of the vehicle. “Normally, I’d say we just start at the end of the street and work our way to the end, but maybe we’ll save some time by hitting the houses that have a view of the store.”

 

“Sure,” Frankie agreed. “So maybe 1015-1027?”

 

Brooks gathered the photos. “Sounds like a good start.”

 

…..

 

As the two men strolled towards the first house, Frankie said, “Since it’s your case, you should probably do all the talking.”

 

The detective nodded. “That’s fine. But don’t think you can’t butt in if you’ve got something to say.”

 

“I just don’t wanna step on your toes.”

 

“I’d rather you step on my toes then let something slip past.” They reached the door of 1015. “All right?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” he replied with a determined nod.

 

Brooks checked his notepad for the list of homeowners. With a firm knock, he waited until it slowly opened. A face appeared behind the safety chain.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Mrs. Foster?” Brooks asked.

 

Suspicious eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

 

He held up his I.D card. “I’m Detective Brooks, Boston Homicide. I’m wondering if I could ask you some questions regarding the shoo-”

 

The door unceremoniously slammed shut. A muffled voice informed him, “I don’t have anything to say!”

 

Brooks stared at the door momentarily. Realizing it wasn’t going to open again, he turned to a slightly bemused Frankie. “Let’s hope the next house is better.”

 

…..

 

It wasn’t. Neither was 1019 or 1021. There was no answer at 1023, which was almost a welcomed reprieve from the responses they had been getting.

 

“People don’t wanna be seen as snitches,” Frankie summarized.

 

“Yet they’ll complain about the crime rates.” Brooks shook his head. “I don’t know what the solution is, but it’s got to start by someone being brave enough to step forward. At this rate, I’m about to apologize for wasting your time.” He held up the photos and slapped them against his leg. They reached the door of 1025, and he sighed. Though his knock was just as firm as it was at the first house, his expectations were wavering. The door swung open, and a giant of a man filled the doorway.

 

“You here about the shooting last night?”

 

Brooks blinked, taken slightly aback by the man’s directness. “Yes, sir. Are you Albert Winthrop?”

 

“Yep. For the record, I didn’t see nothin’ last night. Wish I had.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“I’m tired of these little shitstains runnin’ this neighbourhood. I’m tired of workin’ 60 hour weeks to pay for what I got, only to see these douche canoes take it like it’s theirs. And I’m even more tired of nobody doin’ nothin’. If I had seen ‘em, somethin’ bad woulda happened.”

 

Based on the size and musculature of the behemoth, neither cop doubted him.

 

“You might not have seen anything last night, but maybe you can identify the person in these photos?” Brooks handed over the pictures.

 

It didn’t take long for the homeowner to nod. “Sure, I know this crotch sniffer. Wears his jeans low and cap straight. Thinks he’s a fuckin’ thug. Livin’ the black life when he’s whiter than a fuckin’ marshmallow. Playin’ poor when he lives in Beacon Hill or some such shit.”

 

Brooks pulled out a pen. “So when you say you know this kid, you mean you know who he is?”

 

“Yeah, the whole neighbourhood knows this turd nugget. He’s 5 foot nothin’ but they call him ‘Stretch’. Like that’s fuckin’ clever. Real name is Tony Walker. Walken. Waltz. Somethin’. Fuckin’ weasel knocker if you ask me.”

 

“Why do you think he lives in Beacon Hill?” Frankie spoke up. “I mean, that’s a pretty rich part of town.”

 

“My boy hangs out at the skate park where this little pissbag struts around. I told him to stay the fuck away from that crowd, but he hears stuff, you know? Heard him braggin’ about usin’ Mommy and Daddy’s money to get whatever his friends want. It’s the only reason anyone hangs out with him - he’s always got a wad full of cash.”

 

“This park around here?” Brooks asked.

 

“Yeah.” Winthrop jerked his chin away from the store. “Down at the end of the street. There’s a path that goes to it if you don’t wanna drive all the way around. Watch out for needles and shit, though. Assholes have ruined the park like they ruin everythin’ else.”

 

Brooks flipped his notepad shut and tucked it into his breast pocket. “I want to thank you very much, Mr. Winthrop. You’ve been a huge help.”

 

The giant looked down at Brooks’ extended hand as if he couldn’t believe it. Tentatively, and with a surprising awareness of his strength, he reached out and shook the detective’s hand. “You know how I knew you were cops?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Because Mrs. Foster called the second you left her door. Told me - no, warned me - you were comin’. And I get it. She’s an old lady who just wants to live her life in peace. But there ain’t gonna be no peace if we don’t stand up and demand it. So I appreciate you not givin’ up when she shut that door in your face.”

 

“And I appreciate you talking to us, sir,” Brooks said. “If we have any other questions, I hope we can come back.”

 

“You just knock on my door. I might even invite you in.”

 

Brooks smiled. Turning to Frankie, the two men made their way down the steps and convened on the sidewalk. “That made up for the rest of it,” he said.

 

“Yeah. Not only did we get some hard leads, but,” Frankie held up his notepad, “I got a list of insults I can’t wait to try out back at the station. ‘Pissbag’ has quickly become a personal favourite.”

 

Chuckling, Brooks nodded. “Okay, so we hit the park next?”

 

Frankie checked his watch. “It might be a little early, but we can give it a shot.”

 

“Should we walk it or take the car?”

 

“It’s not too far from here, but I don’t know about leavin’ the car behind in this neighbourhood.”

 

“Right. Last thing we need is to come back to it stripped.”

 

“That’d be a great first day story, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Never live it down,” he snorted. “All right, let’s go.”

 

…..

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  


…..

 

“I didn’t think it was this big,” Frankie said. They had parked alongside a stretch of iron wrought fencing and surveyed the area.

 

“At least there’s seems to be only 2 ways in and out.” Brooks pointed to the entrance six feet away, then to the one across the park. “The iron goes around most of it except for a few half walls. The trick would be not getting caught in the maze of skate ramps. It’s a damn jungle gym.”

 

Frankie gave him an appreciative look. “All I was thinkin’ about was how hard it’s gonna be to find someone in a park this size.”

 

“Always know where the exits are, Frankie.” Brooks got out of the car and started for the park.

 

Frankie quickly joined him and asked, “How do you think we’ll find this kid?”

 

Brooks shrugged. “Considering we were made the second we pulled up, we might as well go the direct route. Shake the tree and see what falls out. Someone will have the stones to stand up to the cops. We just gotta make sure ours are bigger.”

 

The detective’s prediction soon came to fruition. A trio of teens were taking turns running the rail. One made eye contact with Brooks, but carried on despite the cops’ approach.

 

“I smell bacon,” the kid hummed and his buddies laughed.

 

Brooks nodded. “Well done. That one’s only about 30 years old, but good job. Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”

 

“Got nuthin’ to say.”

 

Frankie kept his eye on the other two teens while Brooks stepped closer. The mouthy skateboarder towered over the detective by a good 6 inches, and he smirked at Brooks’ advance.

 

He pulled out a pack of gum and rolled a stick into his mouth. Handing the pack to the kid, he asked, “Gum?” The teen looked down and his eyes widened when he saw the $50 tucked into the package. “You don’t have to say anything,” Brooks said. “Just point. I’m looking for a guy named Tony. Goes by the nickname ‘Stretch’.”

 

The kid snorted and took the gum and the money. Unwrapping the stick, he used it to point in the direction of the halfpipe. “Might be too early for the princess, but it you’re gonna find him, it’ll be there.”

 

“Thank you.” He jerked his head at Frankie and they made their way through the park.

 

“That went better than expected,” Frankie said.

 

“Says a lot about Stretch’s status around here,” Brooks replied. “Anyone who had any kind of hold in the neighbourhood wouldn’t have been given up for 50 bucks.”

 

“Albert Winthrop said it: playin’ the thug. Only tolerated because of his money.”

 

The sound of rubber on concrete drew them around the banks of ramps to a long curved hole in the ground where a group of teens were rolling in a pendulum-like motion from one end to the other. Every so often a brave one would hit the tip of the curve and pull the skateboard from his feet before quickly setting them back down and rolling to the next side of the pipe. Cheers would erupt for a particularly daring move, but most of them ended up on their asses, much to the group’s delight.

 

“Everyone thinks they’re Tony Hawk,” Frankie muttered sarcastically.

 

Brooks eyes flitted from teen to teen. “I just hope he’s not on a skateboard. I don’t know if I have it in me this mor- shit!”

 

Before Frankie had the time to react, one kid took off like a shot, Brooks threw out his gum and was hot on his heels. The white bandanna around the teen’s ankle said it all. “Shit!” Frankie cursed. “Shit!”

 

His legs and his lungs burned, but the suspect was so close, Brooks pushed through it. The teen used his knowledge of the park to create a bit of space; ledges and ramps became obstacles that slowed Brooks down, though he made a race of it by one-touching the walls - left foot, right foot, left foot - and climbing over. His efforts were such that he was within arms reach…until the suspect slipped under a small gap in the iron fence. He had the audacity to turn and give Brooks the finger before running off.

 

The detective kicked the fence and bent over in exhaustion. After a few deep lungfuls of air, he leaned back with hands on hips. “Shit!”

 

“Holy crap!” Frankie exclaimed, coming to a stop at Brooks’ side. “What happened?”

 

Brooks pointed to the hole under the fence. “Little pissbag shimmied under like a fucking cat.” Frankie grinned at the use of the insult. “Did you get anyone?”

 

Looking a bit embarrassed, Frankie admitted, “No. I thought I should back you up instead.”

 

He waved away the apology. “You did the right thing. I’m not used to having a partner. I probably shouldn’t have left you there like that. Adrenaline got the best of me.”

 

Frankie beamed. “I saw that. That was like some Spiderman shit.”

 

“Except Spiderman usually catches the bad guy.” He took another deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, so we got a name, or at least a partial, so that’s something.”

 

“I can run it when we get back. See if we get a hit.” They started back to the car, not surprised to find the park now completely deserted. “If it ends up being this kid’s from Beacon Hill, you might want to talk to Maura about it,” Frankie suggested, slipping behind the steering wheel. “That’s her stompin’ ground.”

 

…..

 

“So you’re just going to sit there and frown at me all day?”

 

Korsak looked up from his paperwork. “I didn’t realize you were paying attention to me. I mean, why would you now when you don’t bother any other time.”

 

Jane sighed. “I told you Brooks was with Frankie.”

 

“Yeah,” he replied. “You told me Brooks was going over the video with Frankie. You somehow skipped the part where you told Frankie to partner up with him to do the door-to-door.  You know, the thing I told you to do with Brooks.”

 

“I got a fingerprint from the crime scene. I thought following it up was more important than getting doors slammed in my face,” she retorted.

 

“You know who runs fingerprints?” Korsak looked off the side, his index finger tapping his temple, as if divining the answer. “Oh, right, the guys in BRIC! Guys like your brother. What a concept!”

 

The bickering duo missed the distinctive sound of heels on linoleum, but were brought to attention by a hard cough.

 

“Sorry,” Maura apologized. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Nothing to interrupt,” Korsak replied. “I can’t imagine we have anything else to talk about?” His gaze shifted to Jane.

 

“Nope,” she replied in turn. “What’ve you got?”

 

The tension hung over the room like a thick blanket, but, if Maura was aware, she decided against commenting. Instead, she held up a file. “Some of the preliminaries came back on the trace embedded in the wheels of the van. Polyvinyl acetate and glass beads. Most commonly found in road surface paint.”

 

Jane took a moment to process the information. “So the owner works for a road crew or…” Jane spun in her chair and jumped over to Brooks’ desk. She fired up his computer and quickly typed in some information. Tapping the monitor, she melodramatically collapsed on the keyboard. “The city contracts out road markings. They’ve got three on the books. I’ll have to call and get schedules from all of them.” She blew an errant strand of hair from her face. “Great. Something else to bore me to tears.”

 

“Or,” Korsak spoke up, “you could get Frankie to do it when he comes back. Maybe give him the fingerprints you’ve been working on all morning, too.”

 

Maura’s eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Detective Brooks?” Korsak’s shrug aside, no answer came from either of them. “I thought you were doing the door-to-door with him.”

 

The comment was directed at Jane, who sat back and groaned. “Not you, too, Maura. Please.”

 

“You sent Frankie with your new partner.” It was spoken as a statement, not a question. “Okay, well… we’re running first stage tests on the DNA right now. I could have the results as early as tomorrow morning. It’s not quite as extensive as the multi-tiered test, but it should give you enough to identify the victim, if his DNA is already on file.”

 

“Maura…”

 

Frankie’s laughter drew their attention to the door. “Hey, sis,” he nodded in her direction. “Maura.”

 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Korsak groused.

 

“Please accept this donut as a token of my affection,” Frankie smirked, handing the older man a small bag.

 

“Coffee for everyone, too,” Brooks announced. “Except you, Dr. Isles. I didn’t realize you’d be here. I can always go back if-”

 

She shook her head, smiling. “That’s not necessary, Detective Brooks. But I appreciate the offer.”

 

“Depending on where our information leads us, I may need your help later,” Brooks said.

 

“Of course,” she replied. Turning to Jane, she said, “Let me know if those results helped.”

 

As she left the room, Frankie turned to Jane. “You better buy her some fudge clusters, because you’re in the dog house.”

 

Standing from Brooks’ chair, Jane returned to her own and plopped down with a grimace. “Thanks, Dear Abby. Now, are you here to do actual police work or are you going to counsel me all day?”

 

Frankie’s jaw clenched. “You know, sometimes…” He collected himself with a deep breath. “Here’s an idea - why don’t you talk to your partner about the case? I got some names to run.” He looked at Brooks. “I think we did some pretty good work this morning. Thanks for lettin’ me tag along.”

 

“My pleasure,” the detective replied. “Give me a shout if you come up with anything.” He sat down and glanced at his monitor. “What’s this?”

 

“The doc found trace of road paint in the treads of the van,” Korsak said.

 

“Ah,” Brooks nodded appreciatively. “So you think maybe the van crossed an intersection that just got painted.”

 

Korsak tilted his head. “Yep. If we can get the schedules of what areas were done last night, maybe we can figure out where the van came from.”

 

“No results from the DMV?”

 

Jane spoke up for the first time. “RMV in Massachusetts. ‘Registry’, not ‘Department’. And no. I was on hold for an hour before I gave up.”

 

“You need to get a contact in there,” Brooks suggested. “Cuts through the muzak in half the time and you’re not pulling your hair out or smashing phones. Not that I ever did that.”

 

Korsak smiled. “You know, I forget Frankie started in Traffic. I wonder if he’s got any connections in the RMV?” He pointedly looked at Jane.

 

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled, raising her hands in defeat. “Should I bring him a donut to apologize, too?” She stood and stomped off to BRIC.

 

“He likes butter tarts best,” Korsak yelled after her, and snorted when he saw her middle finger.

 

“Funny enough, I got the finger today, too,” Brooks said.

 

“Oh yeah? Frankie seemed to think it went well.”

 

Brooks nodded and removed the lid from his coffee. “It did. I mean, beyond the bird. We found someone who identified the shooter.”

 

“No shit!”

 

“Yeah. He didn’t see the kid do it, but he recognized him from the photos. Goes by the name ‘Stretch’. Real name is Tony-something. He gave us a few options, so Frankie’s going to plug those names in and see what pops up.”

 

“What was the thing with Dr. Isles?”

 

He took a tentative sip. “According to our homeowner, he’s pretty certain Tony-something lives in Beacon Hill.”

 

“Beacon Hill?” Korsak repeated. “That’s a long way from Roxbury, distance and money-wise.”

 

“So I take it. Frankie said if it turns out to be true, I should talk to the doc.”

 

“Yep. It is her neighbourhood. She and Jane-” the sergeant stopped abruptly.

 

“It’s okay,” Brooks said. “I already know. Came up in conversation in the morgue.”

 

“You okay with that?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The question was asked not unkindly. “Besides, you’d have to be blind not to see something there.”

 

Korsak smiled and said, “We were saying that for years until they finally figured the damn thing out on their own. She’ll be glad to know you don’t have an issue with it. Others in the department, well, let’s just say they haven’t been so kind.”

 

“Ballsy-Female-Detective-in-Labelled-as-Dyke-by-Neanderthal-Male-Co-Workers shocker.”

 

Korsak chuckled. “Yeah. Something like that.”

 

Brooks shook his head. “I only expect the same from her that I expect from myself.”

 

“Well you’ll get that in spades,” Korsak promised. “She’s just got to come around to the idea.”

 

…..

 

“You need more relationship advice?”

 

Jane walked into the tech room and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Sorry I said that.”

 

Frankie glanced away from his monitor. “You know, I can handle the jokes and the teasing - you wouldn’t be you without it - but can you at least wait until the new guy isn’t so new? I gotta work with him, too, and I’d like it if he saw me as part of the team instead of Detective Rizzoli’s little brother.”

 

She lowered her eyes to the floor. “Okay, I get it. That was a shitty thing for me to do.”

 

He let the words hang for a moment, then smiled. “Okay. Don’t think it’s gonna be that easy with Maura. And what crawled up Vince’s ass?”

 

Groaning, her shoulders sagged. “He told me to do the door-to-door with Brooks and I told Maura that’s what I was doing.”

 

“So you went over the head of a superior officer, and lied to your girlfriend?” Frankie whistled. “Well, if you’re gonna jump, you might as well go in with both feet, right?”

 

She perched on the corner of a nearby desk. “I didn’t intend… look, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“But it does, Janie. Let’s say we ignore Vince and Maura. What are you saying to your new partner?”

 

“So you’re just fine with some new guy coming in and taking Frost’s place?”

 

He didn’t take the bait offered by her steely voice. “You don’t think it’s like a punch in the gut to look over at Frost’s desk and see someone else sittin’ there? But he’s not taking anyone’s place; he’s just tryin’ to make his own. And from the little I saw, he’s a damn good cop. Good enough to be given a chance.”

 

“What are you working on?” She gestured to the monitor with a nod of her head.

 

Frankie sighed but said, “We got a name to go with the shooter. The only thing is, the guy wasn’t sure about the last name. He gave us 3 that could be it. So I’m runnin’ all 3, cross-referencing the names with homeowners in Beacon Hill. Hopefully that will narrow it down.”

 

“Beacon Hill?”

 

“Yeah. Long story short, our guy’s pretty sure the suspect lives in that neighbourhood.”

 

“That’s why Brooks said he might need Maura’s help.”

 

“I told him that’s where she lives. Any advantage, right?” Jane could tell by the smirk on his face that while he may have forgiven her, she wasn’t entirely off the hook yet. “But that’s not your case. So why are you here?”

 

“Can’t a sister apologize to her brother?” Seeing him roll his eyes, she did the same. “Fine. I’m looking to get information on the van, but everyone at the RMV is busy counting angels on the head of a pin or something, because I can’t get one live person on the other end. So I was wondering…”

 

“You were wondering if I had any RMV connections from my Traffic days.” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Yeah, I might have one or two people I can call. You got the details?” Jane slipped a piece of paper onto his desk. “Give me 15 minutes. And transfer those fingerprints over, too. We can go through the database 3 times faster.”

 

“I might have a list of road contracts for you to go through later, too. Thanks, little brother.” She pushed off the desk and gave Frankie a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

 

“Ew!” he protested. “Get outta here!”

 

…..

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

.....

 

She heard the ‘ding’ from Brooks’ computer as she strolled to her desk.

 

“You’ve got mail!” Korsak joked.

 

“The 90’s called,” Jane said. “They want their catchphrase back.”

 

Brooks snickered, but kept his eyes down. Clicking the mouse, he pumped his fist when he saw the information. “Frankie tracked down a Waltz family in Beacon Hill. That was one of the surnames we were given. They have a 17-year old son by the name of ‘Anthony’. Even better, he’s got a prior for assault.”

 

“Tread lightly,” Korsak warned. “I don’t like admitting it, but if they’ve got money, they’ve got to be handled carefully. Make sure all your ducks are in a row.”

 

“I’ll do some background checks. See if he’s got a social media presence. Maybe he’s been stupid enough to post something online.”

 

Korsak frowned. “Damn, I’m old.”

 

“What?” Jane asked. “You’re not on some pet message board? Don’t have a cute twitter handle?”

 

“Yeah, hashtag fluffybunny. Knock it off.”

 

Jane covered her mouth. “Okay, first of all, old timer, it’s not ‘hashtag’. It’s ‘at’. Second, ‘fluffybunny’? Really?”

 

“Whatever.” He waved away her mirth. “What did Frankie say?”

 

“I’m just waiting for him to get back to me about the RMV. And he told me to send him the fingerprint file.” The second half of her answer was given quietly, and Korsak acknowledged her concession with a gentle tip of his head. Her own e-mail chimed and she looked down. The subject line made her frown, and she quickly looked over her monitor.

 

“You left the names of the contractors open on my computer,” Brooks explained. “I didn’t have anything to do until Frankie gave me the name. I figured I’d save you some time and call around.”

 

Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, she sighed. “I didn’t think there would be that much to work with.” She pointed to the screen and the lengthy schedules within the message. “Who would’ve thought 37 streets needed to get painted last night? Dammit. I’m going to have to get a cot for Frankie right before I ask him to go through every minute of surveillance he can pull up on these streets.”

 

“Maybe he’ll come up with something on the van before it comes to that,” Korsak said.

 

“I don’t think there’s enough butter tarts in the world otherwise.” Her computer chimed again. “All right, here we go.” The room was quiet as she quickly skimmed the information. “Last owner was 10 years ago. Mr. Roberto Malini. Last address was in Dorchester.”

 

“So not out of the realm of possibility that the van would be in the Roxbury district.” Korsak looked at Brooks. “Two neighbourhoods separated by Columbia Road, so the proximity makes sense.” Returning his attention to Jane, he said, “Why don’t you and Brooks go check it out?”

 

Jane’s head snapped up. “What?” Hearing the sharpness in her tone, she coughed and looked at Brooks. “I mean, aren’t you going to do that background check on the shooter?”

 

“Oh, I can do that,” Korsak offered. “Gives an old guy a chance to get hip with the kids.”

 

“Don’t put those words together in a sentence ever again.” Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she stood and grabbed her jacket. “You ready?” she asked Brooks.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Great,” she muttered.

 

…..

 

The radio started when the car did, but if Brooks noticed it was tuned to NPR, he made no mention of it. He kept his head forward, but his eyes never stopped moving, lazily sweeping from left to right and back again. Jane remembered Maura's remark about his quietness. Experiencing it now, firsthand, she wasn't sure if it was welcoming or unsettling.

 

“Green,” he said.

 

“What?” She saw him tilt his chin straight ahead. As she followed his motion, she realized the traffic light had changed. “Oh.”

 

That was the total number of words spoken until they pulled down a quiet street in Dorchester. As she unclipped her seat belt, she said, “This should be routine, but keep your eyes open.” She remembered his unerring gaze during the drive and almost smiled at her words. “We found this van with a body in it; anything could happen if the owner realizes why we’re here.”

 

“Got it.”

 

With a deliberate stride, they approached the house, and it wasn’t until they were standing side-by-side did Jane notice they were exactly the same height. She wasn’t sure why this observation popped into her head, and she wondered if she should ask Maura what part of the brain was responsible for pointing out the most useless information. She broke out of her reverie long enough to knock on the door.

 

A shadow moved across the peephole, and a female voice called out, “Who is it?”

 

“Boston Police, ma’am,” Jane replied. “We’re looking for Roberto Malini.”

 

The deadbolt slid back and the door opened slightly. They were met by a woman who most likely was in her mid-20’s, but looked a decade older. “I’m sorry? What’s this about?”

 

“I’m Detective Rizzoli. This is Detective Brooks. Does Mr. Malini live here?”

 

“Yes, but…” she faltered.

 

Jane pressed on. “May we speak with him?”

 

Wordlessly, the woman stepped back, ushering the detectives in. “Don’t mind the mess.”

 

Brooks glanced around the house. “You have a lovely home, Miss…?”

 

She seemed to blush at the compliment. “Kate. Kate Malini. Thank you. It’s hard. I work part time at the Wal-Mart, and of course, taking care of Dad is a full-time job.” They reached the end of the hallway, and Kate held out a hand towards the living room. A man sat in a plush chair, facing the window, a blanket over his lap. “Dad. Dad!” The senior turned his head, confused and disoriented.

 

“Joseph?”

 

Kate turned to Brooks. “You look a lot like Uncle Joe. I mean, about 40 years ago.” The duo remained silent, waiting for her to explain. “Dad’s in Stage 5 of Alzheimer’s. He has a hard time remembering things.”

 

“Joseph?”

 

“Why don’t you two have a chat and I’ll sit with Mr. Malini?” Brooks offered.

 

He shared a look with Jane who turned to Kate. “Why don’t we do that?” She watched Brooks slowly walk towards the older man, presumably in an attempt to not startle him. The senior’s eyes lit up when the detective took to the chair beside him. Turning her attention back to the daughter, Jane began. “We tracked a 1997 white van back to your father. Do you know anything about that?”

 

Kate frowned. “A white van?” She thought about it for a moment. “No, I… oh wait. Yes, I do remember a white van. God, that’s got to be ten years ago.” Jane’s expression encouraged her to continue. “My dad was a plumber. That was his work vehicle.”

 

“My pop’s a plumber, too,” Jane smiled. “So you don’t have the van now?”

 

“Oh no,” Kate replied. “I’m pretty sure Dad got rid of it, well, like I said, about 10 years ago. I think… he might have sold it to a neighbour?”

 

“Here?”

 

She shook her head. “No. Dad lived in Upham’s Corner back then.”

 

“What was your dad’s last address?”

 

The younger woman looked a bit sheepish. “I know this is going to sound horrible to say… My parents split up when I was a teenager. I only got to see Dad every other weekend, and he would pick me up and drop me off at Mom’s house. My parents had me when they were older. Dad was in his 50’s when I was 14.” She shrugged, embarrassed.

 

“You didn’t have much time for him then,” Jane said.

 

“No, I didn’t.” She looked over at her father. “What I wish I knew then, huh?”

 

Jane reached over and gently touched the girl’s arm. “If we had foresight, we’d all be perfect. I don’t suppose you remember the neighbour’s name?”

 

Kate shook her head again. "I just remember they had two boys, because they were always climbing the fence between our yards to get my attention." She smiled at the memory. "They were 5 or 6. Twins, I think. Cute kids." Glancing over to Brooks and her father, she remarked, "He's very good with people. Your partner, I mean."

 

Jane followed her gaze and watched how Brooks responded with attention and animation. The old man said something, and they both leaned back and laughed. As if sensing he was being watched, Brooks turned towards them. He stood, clasped the senior on his shoulder and whispered something low enough that Jane couldn't hear. Both men looked pointedly at Jane before the father shrugged and patted Brooks' arm.

 

"He was telling me all about the trouble we got into as kids. I mean, him and his brother," Brooks said when he arrived at Jane's side.

 

"Uncle Joe died five years ago. The doctors said it wasn't the cause of Dad's illness, but sometimes... I don't know. Thank you for taking the time with him. He doesn't get a lot of moments like that anymore. His ability to communicate... well, it's part of the disease."

 

"Thank you for the opportunity," Brooks replied.

 

"Yes," Jane agreed. "Thank you for your time." She handed the girl a card. "If you think of anything."

 

Kate nodded and walked them to the door. "You know, I didn't even ask what this was about."

 

"We're just investigating a crime that involved your father's old van."

 

"Wow," the girl said. "I'm sorry I couldn't help more."

 

The detectives said their final goodbyes and returned to the car. "What now?" Brooks asked.

 

"Head back to the station and do a deeper check into Mr. Malini. Track down his last address through his financials. Then dig through the land registry to see who lived on either side of him  and hope they haven't moved or we're back to the beginning again."

 

Rather than sighing at her frustration, he pressed his lips together and nodded. "Okay."

 

"You don't need to worry about it," she said. Hearing the edge in her tone, she amended, "Korsak might have something in your case by the time we get back."

 

"Okay," he repeated, and the rest of the drive was carried on in silence.

 

.....

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

….

 

"Well, that answers my question," Korsak said as the the detectives walked in.

 

"What question?" Jane asked.

 

"If you two found anything. By the hangdog expressions on your faces, the answer is 'no'."

 

Jane brought her computer back to life with a quick swipe of the mouse. "Found the old owner, but his daughter thinks he sold it to a neighbour a decade ago. Except he doesn't live in the same place anymore and back then, the daughter was caught in the middle of a divorce."

 

"Ah," he sighed. "So sporadic visitation, and he always went to her."

 

Brooks looked up from his phone. "Sounds like you're talking from experience."

 

Korsak shrugged. "When I was going through my second, I ended up in a little one-bedroom in Dorchester. Don't think my stepson ever saw the place. Of course, there were other things going on, but he was a teenager." He shrugged again.

 

Jane nodded and said, "She was 14. By her own admission, she didn't have much interest in spending time with him. So now I have track down his old address. The good news is, it’s in Upham’s Corner, which still gives the van plenty of reason to be in Roxbury."

 

"The bad news is, you're gonna have to-"

 

"I've already bored the new guy with the details, Korsak."

 

"Well, good luck!" he said brightly. Ducking a poorly aimed pencil, he turned to Brooks. "I probably shouldn't mock her. I didn't have any luck finding an internet trail of this kid beyond a Facebook account."

 

"Did you check Twitter?" Brooks asked.

 

"Instagram?" Jane tossed in.

 

“YouTube channel?"

 

"Snapchat?”

 

“YikYak?”

 

“Vine?”

 

Korsak's eyes went back and forth between the two. "What the hell's a YikYak?"

 

"Notice he didn't ask what YouTube is," she remarked to Brooks. "That's where he watches all his cat videos."

 

Smirking, Brooks let the older man off the hook. "I'll go through the online stuff if you could check the family's background, see if one of the parents has a gun registered."

 

Korsak's eyes widened. "You think the kid was stupid enough to use a registered gun?"

 

"I don't know," Brooks admitted, "but I got the impression he doesn't get a lot of respect from the neighbourhood. So that means he either got stiffed on the cost of a gun, or he had access to one already. Obviously, I'm hoping for the latter."

 

"I'd like it even more if we had some physical evidence."

 

Brooks nodded at the sergeant. "You and me both." He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "You know," he said slowly, "there was something odd in the way he reacted to the gun going off. He jerked his hand back, like this." He demonstrated the motion he had seen on the video.

 

"Never shot it before," Jane shrugged. "People underestimate the kickback."

 

"I think you’re right about the first bit. I don't think he'd ever shot a gun." His brow furrowed in concentration. "But there's something I'm missing..."

 

Curiosity getting the best of her, she picked up the scent. “Ballistics come back on the make?”

 

“Yeah. A .45; the video made it look like a Glock. Maybe a 30 or a 37.”

 

“Small gun for his tiny hands,” Jane remarked, tapping her chin with a pencil. “They all have the same problem: the space between the plate and the grip. When the gun gets fired, the space can snap closed and pinch your pinkie finger. Less painful than the slide burn, but still hurts like a son of a bitch.”

 

He nodded, following her line of thinking. “Could be him reacting to the slide pinch. I’ve seen it open up the pad of the finger before. It’s not fun.”

 

The gears in Jane's head turned over the information. “I see where you’re going with this,” she said. “You need to see if CSRU found any blood they can’t identify.”

 

“Would be nice,” Brooks mused. He lifted the phone and pressed the pre-programmed button.

 

"What about you?" Korsak asked Jane.

 

She sat back, unintentionally mirroring Brooks' earlier pose. "Frankie sent me a text - nothing on the fingerprints. To show him how much I appreciated his news, I gave him the list of streets that were painted and told him not to get back to me until he's gone through all the street cams. I'll have to explain to Ma why Frankie can’t come home for Christmas."

 

“You gotta go through the van owner’s financials,” Korsak reminded her. “Looks like I’ll be telling your mother there will be two kids missing for the holidays.”

 

She would have thrown her pencil at him, but it was the last one she had.

 

…..

 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the tedious routine of phone calls and mouse-clicking, and the bureaucratic time-waster known as ‘being on hold’.

 

“I just want an address!” Jane growled and slammed down the phone.

 

“But your call was important to them,” Korsak quipped. “You’ve lost your place in line.”

 

“I was ready to climb through the line and grab someone by the throat.”

 

“And on that note, why don’t we call it a day? I figure by the time I get a live person at the Firearms Registry it’ll be five to five and they’ll tell me the office is closed.”

 

Jane pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Good thinking. Let me see if Frankie’s up for the Robber.”

 

She stood and left the room under Korsak’s watchful gaze. The older man turned to Brooks who hadn’t looked up from his notepad. He was angry that Jane hadn’t extended the invitation to her new partner, and he set his jaw before saying, “Hey, we’re headin’ out. There’s a cop bar not far from here where we usually go after work. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

 

Brooks looked up and shot a glance towards BRIC. If he noticed the lack of an invite from Jane, he said nothing about it. “I’m going to stick around for a bit. Might actually be making headway with this social media trail.”

 

“Really?” Korsak asked.

 

“Yeah. These kids overlap each other so much, it’s like unravelling the world’s largest ball of string. But I think I’m getting there.” Korsak opened his mouth to say something, but Brooks held up a hand. “It’s okay, really. I get it. Next time.”

 

Korsak turned off his computer and flicked off the small desk lamp. “Damn right, next time.”

 

…..

 

Frankie flopped into the booth with a melodramatic exhale. “The goggles. They do nothing!”

 

Maura slipped into the seat across from the younger Rizzoli. “Why were you wearing goggles?”

 

Jane sat beside her and set down the first round of drinks. “It’s a meme, Maura. It’s about seeing something on the internet that you can’t unsee. Poor Frankie’s been scrolling through grainy street video footage all day.”

 

“Are you trying to cross-reference the van with the paint schedule?”

 

“Yes,” he groaned. “Hour after hour of nothing but lights changing, with the occasional car driving by to break up the monotony.”

 

“But not a white van,” Maura sympathized.

 

“Not a one, but maybe the 18 streets I have left to look at will be the magic charm.” Frankie reached for his beer and took a generous swig.

 

When Maura took a delicate sip of her wine but said no more, Jane nudged her with her shoulder. “Don’t you want to know how my day went?” Frankie shook his head and sighed loudly, but Jane ignored him.

 

Primly turning to her right, Maura asked, “And how did the rest of your day go?”

 

Jane made a face. “Come on, Maura.” The doctor’s face remained impassive and Jane pouted, “I got to track down the new owner of the van through the financials of the old owner of the van. Yay.” She, too, took a long pull of her beer.

 

“So you found the van?” she asked.

 

“Not exactly. We found the original owner, but his daughter couldn’t remember who he sold it to and the new owner didn’t register it with the RMV. So, I’ve got to work from back to front and see if I can find out where the new owner lives.”

 

“You said ‘we’,” Maura remarked. “You and Frankie?”

 

“Nope,” she took another drink, “me and… Brooks.” The name still sounded foreign on her lips. She felt Maura’s hand on her thigh.

 

“That’s progress.”

 

Korsak returned from the washroom in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. Downing half his beer in one motion, he took a breath and said, “Where is Brooks, by the way?”

 

Jane shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the three sets of eyes now awaiting her answer. “I thought you were inviting him.”

 

The sergeant shook his head at the deflection. “You know something? I did. Right after you said you were going to see if Frankie wanted to come down. Right after you walked by your new partner without saying a word.”

 

The warm hand pulled away from Jane’s thigh. “What? So it’s my fault he’s not here?”

 

“You think he doesn’t know, Jane? Does he come across as stupid to you?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “I’m sure he feels right at home after today.” Korsak raised the bottle to his lips and finished off the drink. “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Isles, I think I’m gonna head home. It’s been a long day.”

 

Frankie looked at his sister with little expression, though his eyes said it all. “You should have been with him today, Jane. He did some real good work tracking that kid down.” He polished off his own beer before sliding out of the booth. “Wait up, Korsak. I’ll treat you to a ‘dog on the corner.”

 

“Guys, come on,” Jane said as she watched the men walk away. “Fine. I’m the bad guy,” she called out after them. She slumped her head onto the cool table top and groaned. Nothing came from the woman at her side and Jane raised her head enough to take a look. Maura sat ramrod straight, shoulders back, eyes staring into the distance. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap and her wine sat still and unwanted. “Please, Maura, I can’t deal with you, too.”

 

Maura’s jaw clenched and she slowly turned her head. “You can’t seem to deal with very much, Jane. I’d like to go home now.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment until Jane said flatly, “Fine.” Standing, she grabbed her jacket and made her way to the door in long, angry strides. It wasn’t until she got to the car that she realized why Maura hadn’t rushed to follow - she was the one with the keys. Frustrated at her impatience and embarrassed at having to wait for Maura, she kicked the tire.

 

“Early tires were often made with thin inferior rubber, which is why people kicked them,” Maura informed her as she rounded the driver’s side. “I can assure you, Mercedes-Benz have some of the best tires on the market.”

 

Without another word, she slid behind the steering wheel and started the car. Fearing Maura might actually drive away, Jane quickly opened the passenger door and got in.

 

…..

 

The ride was quiet and tense, and the walk up to the front door was no better. Maura entered first and carefully hung the keys on a nearby hook before slipping off her heels and making her way to the kitchen. Jane kicked off her boots and left them strewn out of spite. Her jacket hit the coat rack and she stomped up the stairs. It took her all of five minutes to change into her shorts and tank top, and come back down again. She caught Maura’s look. Holding up the pillow that was under her arm, she said, “I’m sleeping on the couch, right?”

 

“Why in the world would you be sleeping on the couch?”

 

She shrugged. “That’s what happens when one of us gets in the doghouse. We sleep on the couch.”

 

Maura took a sip from a bottle of water. “Rest assured, if I’m ever in ‘the doghouse’, I won’t be sleeping on the couch. And neither will you.” Jane’s eyes lit up hopefully. “There’s a perfectly good guest room to use, and I don’t want to have to explain to your mother why you’re sleeping in the living room.”

 

Jane’s expression dropped. “Oh.”

 

“Or, you know, you could sleep in our bed.”

 

“You’re not mad at me?”

 

“Of course I’m mad at you, Jane.” Maura said with a sigh. “You’re so damn stubborn. Whether you’re chasing a criminal or playing chess or pushing away your feelings. Sometimes, I love you for it. But other times… I don’t know what to do, Jane. You won’t talk to me, and I wonder why.”

 

Jane was at Maura’s side in three quick strides. Taking the beautiful face in her hands, she brushed her thumbs across soft cheek bones and shook her head. “It’s not you. I do that with everyone.”

 

“Yes, but you’re not sleeping with everyone.” A beat passed. “Are you?”

 

Jane chuckled and she nuzzled against Maura’s temple. “No, just you. Though Pike’s started wearing Axe, and you know how sexy I find that.”

 

Maura gently pinched Jane’s sides. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.” The brunette raised an eyebrow. “Humour as a diversionary tactic,” Maura said.

 

Jane’s hands slid from Maura’s face and wandered over her shoulders down to her waist. With a slight tug, she pulled their bodies together. “I might be able to come up with another diversionary tactic if you want.”

 

Maura chuckled, but gently removed Jane’s hands and stepped back. “I know this is something you don’t want to talk about, so let me.” She looked down at their clasped hands and drew in a breath. “Every day, when we go into work and you go upstairs and I go downstairs, I never take it for granted that it might be the last time I see you.” Jane’s objection was stopped with a light finger against her lips. “I don’t want you to think I obsess over it; anything can happen to anyone at any given time. We’ve learned that the hard way, haven’t we? But it’s also true that your job increases the odds of something happening. I accept that. Your job and your passion for it is one of the many reasons I love you. But it’s been over a year, and the department hasn’t filled the absence, Vince is focusing on being promoted, and Frankie has finally been given a full-time position in BRIC. You’ve gone out too many times on your own, Jane.” Again, her objection was halted with a touch. “I know you can handle it.” They both smiled at Maura’s ability to read her mind. “But it would make me feel better if you didn’t have to handle it alone. If you’re not ready to accept Detective Brooks for your own reasons, please do it for mine. Please do it for me.”

 

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can I speak now?” she murmured under Maura’s finger.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would have got him a cake and everything.” She saw Maura frown and she leaned forward to kiss the worry lines away. In a more serious tone, she said, “I would do anything for you.”

 

“Really?” she asked. Seeing the nod, Maura replied, “Great. You can start by finding out what Detective Brooks would like for dinner tomorrow night.”

 

Jane pulled back sharply. “Come again?”

 

“We’re inviting him for dinner tomorrow night and I don’t have a clue what he might like to eat.”

 

“Dinner? Tomorrow night?” Jane repeated. “We?”

 

With an angelic smile, Maura said, “For me?”

 

Jane’s shoulders slumped and she let her head fall back. “Fiiiine.”

 

Maura clapped her hands once and beamed. “Wonderful. Speaking of dinner, why don’t you warm up the lasagna your mother left yesterday?” She was halfway up the stairs before giving one last order- “And please, pick up your shoes!”

 

…..

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

…..

 

“You did go home last night, right?” Korsak asked the new detective, who was sitting exactly where he was when Korsak left yesterday.

 

Brooks looked up with a chuckle. “Yeah. Haven’t quite figured out how long it’s going to take me to get to work in the morning and that barista at Boston Joe’s is smart as a whip. She practically had my drinks ready by the time I got to the register. So here I am.”

 

“And here’s my coffee!” Korsak said, seeing the steaming cup on his desk. “Thanks. What are you working on?”

 

“Got some names that cross over some social media lines that I can connect to our suspect. Waiting for the CSRU guys to I.D. the blood to get me a warrant for the gun, assuming we get something from the FRB.”

 

“That’s a lot of letters this early in the morning.” Brooks nodded and grinned. "What do you have if the blood angle doesn't come through?"

 

"Not much," he admitted. “I’m going to try and roll one or two of his buddies, and I've got one positive ID from the neighbour, but when it comes down to physical evidence, I've got nothing." He shook his head, and Korsak encouraged him to continue with a tilt of his. "Not used to the minutiae. In the Drug Unit, the evidence is pretty obvious - a video sting, a shipment intercept, someone caught with the drugs on them. But this? My entire case rests on a single drop of blood."

 

Korsak pressed his lips together in understanding.  "It's the nature of Homicide. It's why we have cold cases. Sometimes the evidence just doesn't come through."

 

Grunting, Brooks said, "A cold case I could handle. This kid's guilty. If he gets away with it, I won't be happy."

 

Korsak took a cautious sip from his cup before continuing,  "Just be prepared is all I'm saying. Damn, this is good coffee."

 

"Speaking of coffee, or whatever this is-" he lifted Maura's drink, "I should bring this down. I can stop by the lab on the way, see if they got anything yet."

 

"Talk to Susie Chang.  She'll help you out."

 

Brooks acknowledged the name with a nod. "She was the one I spoke to yesterday. The crime guys found 3 traces of blood they couldn't match up with the victims. She said she'd try to have something for me this morning."

 

"While you're down there, I'll see if I can get through to the Firearms Registry."

 

"Thanks."

 

The trip to the lab was a short one, and it was a small detour to the morgue. Seeing the examination room empty, he started down the hall, scanning nameplates on doors as he went. It was this distraction that nearly made him collide with Jane.

 

"Whoa!"

 

"Hey!"

 

"Sorry," he said, deftly making sure the drinks didn't spill. "Crisis averted."

 

"Good morning, Detective," Maura called from inside the office.

 

"Morning, Dr. Isles." He smiled at her before turning his attention to Jane. He glanced down at the coffee in his hand, then held it out to her. "Peace offering for almost spilling it on you?"

 

"Not sure you can offer the thing that nearly caused the problem," Jane replied.

 

"And yet you still accepted it," Maura noted.

 

With a grin, he walked to her desk and sat the second drink down. "And yours."

 

"Not that I'm unappreciative," she said, "but was I supposed to have test results for you this morning?"

 

"No. Actually, I'm down here to see Dr. Chang about some blood work."

 

Jane removed the lid and savoured the aroma of the coffee. "Don't call her 'Doctor'; she'll get all flustered. Just go with Chang."

 

"Do not 'just go with Chang,’” Maura said. “Her title is Senior Criminalist." She looked pointedly at Jane.

 

"Yeah, but it's such a mouthful."

 

"You could always just call me 'Susie'." Three heads turned to the woman in the doorway. The tech smiled. "Good morning, everyone."

 

"S'up, Chang?" Jane asked, pretending not to notice the glare Maura shot her way.

 

"Good morning, Susie," Maura replied.

 

Brooks held out his hand. "Ash Brooks. Very nice to meet you." He smoothly avoided attaching a title.

 

"Smart," Jane said in a whisper heard by everyone.

 

"You can call me. Susie. You can call me 'Susie'," she stammered, taking his hand. "Senior Criminalist Susie Chang. Nice to meet you."

 

"Detective Ash Brooks," he said again. "My pleasure."

 

She beamed. "You're Detective Rizzoli's new partner."

 

"Yep."

 

"From New York."

 

He nodded.

 

The room was silent for a moment, then she blurted, "You're here for the blood test results. "

 

"At last," Jane said.

 

Ignoring the impatient woman, Susie continued, "I haven't had a chance to look, but if you wanted to come to the lab, I can give it to you. Them. The results!”

 

His smile was warm and genial. "That sounds great. Let me just finish this and I'll be right there."

 

"Okay, great! Well, have a great day, everyone."

 

Brooks watched her leave and grinned. "Intelligent and sweet. Is she single?"

 

"I believe she separated from her boyfriend several months ago," Maura replied.

 

"You should ask her out to dinner," Jane suggested. "I've never seen someone spontaneously combust before."

 

Brooks chuckled, but Maura said, "That's because it's an urban myth. The human body doesn't have the ability to reach the temperatures required to combust. And while we're on the topic of dinner..."

 

She looked directly at Jane who avoided her gaze until it became obvious. With a dramatic sigh and a slouch to her shoulders, Jane relented. "Fine. Brooks, Maura wants me to ask you over for dinner."

 

"That's not quite how I thought our conversation went, but okay," Maura said.

 

He shifted from one foot to the other. "Dinner, huh?"

 

Maura smiled. "I know it's short notice."

 

"No, no, it's fine." He waved off her apology. "Yeah, sure. I'd love to come over for dinner."

 

Her smile grew wider. "Wonderful. Is there anything specific you'd like? Anything you're allergic to?"

 

"Can't eat shellfish," he warned. "Maybe a steak?"

 

Jane snorted. "Only if you want to be told how bad red meat is for you all through dinner."

 

"Hey!" Maura protested.

 

He covered his smirk by rubbing his chin. "I love pasta...?"

 

"Good call," Jane replied. "Double bonus because we still have the lasagna Ma made in the freezer."

 

"Great, it's settled." Maura all but clapped. "Let's say 7? That should give us all time to get ready. Jane can give you the address.”

 

“Okay. Well, I should see what Dr. Chang has for me.” His cheeks almost reddened at the words. “With the blood work. Thanks for the invite, Dr. Isles.” Turning to Jane, he said, “I guess I’ll see you upstairs.”

 

He disappeared down the hall, and Maura nodded her approval. “I think that went well.” When Jane didn’t reply, Maura chuckled and stood. Standing in front of the detective, she reached up and tapped the dimple in Jane’s chin. “Don’t scowl. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.” She slapped her hands on her thighs in frustration, then bowed her head. “I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal about this.”

 

“Because it _is_ a big deal,” Maura soothed. “And that’s why I think it’s best if we try and deal with it head-on, rather than hoping it will go away. It’s not going to go away, Jane.”

 

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I promise to try, okay?”

 

Pressing her lips against Jane’s, Maura said, “That’s all I ask. Now,” she immediately returned to her professional mode, “I hope Susie has something more for Detective Brooks than I have for you. The preliminary DNA results haven’t come back yet.”

 

Jane shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m still going through the old land registries to see who lived beside the original owner of the van, then I have to track them down, then I have to hope I can connect the van to them. So, you know, I’ve pretty much got this morning covered anyway.”

 

“Good. I hope I’ll have something to cover your afternoon, too.”

 

“Mmmm,” Jane hummed, “I can think of one or two things you can cover me with anytime you like, Dr. Isles.”

 

Maura grasped the roaming hands that had somehow snaked their way around her waist. “I will give you points for the double entendre, but nothing more.” Jane pouted. “You have a case to solve and I have a dinner to plan.”

 

“What’s there to plan? Toss the lasagna in the oven, throw some plates on the table, crack open a bottle of wine and voila,” she said with a flourish. “Switch wine for beer and put the game on, and I might even enjoy it.” She saw Maura’s sigh and gave one of her own. “I will try.”

 

Maura smiled and kissed her again. “You make me happy. Now go do your detective thing.”

 

…..

 

Jane tried to make eye contact with Korsak when she entered the bullpen, but the sergeant was having none of it. With a sigh, she walked over to his desk and lightly tapped the corner before saying, “I know why you’re mad. I get it.” Another nervous tap. “And I’m sorry.”

 

He didn’t look up from the monitor, choosing instead to intently study something she couldn’t see. Just when she thought it was a lost cause, he said, “You look well-rested for someone who slept on the couch.”

 

Her lips twitched. “I didn’t sleep on the couch.”

 

This got his attention. Lowering his glasses, he said, “She didn’t make you sleep on the couch?”

 

“Nope,” she replied. “We talked it out and, you know, came to an agreement.”

 

“And what might that be?”

 

“I admitted I was being an ass, and she agreed.”

 

Korsak laughed. “She’s a keeper. You know that, right?”

 

Jane nodded and said, “I know.” She turned to her desk, but stopped in mid-stride. “We also agreed that I’d try. You know, with the new… Brooks.”

 

His face softened. “That’s all I want, Jane. Hell, that’s all _he_ wants.”

 

She walked over to her seat and dropped into it with a sigh. “He also wants lasagna.” Korsak raised an eyebrow. “Maura invited him over for dinner. I mean, she got me to invite him over for dinner.”

 

“And you’re giving him Angela’s lasagna?” She nodded and he tapped his forehead. “There’s your chance to find out everything you need to know about him. Her lasagna will make any man talk.”

 

Grinning, she fired up her computer, sipping from her cup while she waited. “He’s still getting me coffee, so I guess that’s a plus in his favour.” When her e-mail chimed, her eyebrows went up.

 

“Another Nigerian prince?”

 

“No, the Land Registry Department. After waiting a lifetime on hold yesterday, I thought I’d take a shot in the dark and see if I could get a response through e-mail. I can’t believe it worked.”

 

“Sounds like witchcraft to me,” Korsak said.

 

Jane laughed. “Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than having a phone surgically attached to my ear.” She clicked open the folder and skimmed the information. “The good news is, the homeowner on one side has been there for 15 years. The bad news is, in the time frame Mr. Malini owned his home, the house on the other side had 3.”

 

“Contact info?”

 

“On two of the three, and the one on the other side.”

 

“Better odds than I thought. You gonna take Brooks with you?”

 

“Take me where?” The detective walked in with a coffee, a folder, and a smile.

 

“Jane used magic to get information on the previous neighbours of our van owner.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Yeah, I used something called ‘the internet’. Got three contact numbers. Two are out of state, but the other one will be easy to check out - they still live in the same house.”

 

“Really?” Brooks asked as he sat. “That’s good news.”

 

“Thought you might, you know, want to go with me to talk to them.” The words seemed less forced than she thought they’d sound. Korsak gave a small approving nod.

 

“Yeah, for sure,” Brooks replied.

 

“Based on your smile, looks like you’ve got good news of your own,” Korsak noted.

 

“Or did Chang accept your dinner invitation?”

 

Brooks smirked at her amusement. “I didn’t ask yet.”

 

“Yet.”

 

“Anyway,” he continued, “got the blood work back on the unidentified samples. At least one of them is unidentified no more.” He held up the file. “Belongs to Anthony Gregory Waltz.”

 

Jane frowned. “How’s his blood sample in the system?”

 

“Got picked up on an assault charge last year. As part of the plea bargain, he had to register with NDIS. Pretty sure his parents figured what was the harm? Gets their kid off a 3-5 charge.”

 

Korsak grunted. “Yeah, I bet no money changed hands, either.”

 

Shrugging, Brooks said, “No doubt. But any way you slice it, we got his DNA at the crime scene.”

 

“Still working on the gun registry,” Korsak said, touching his ear.

 

Jane craned her head to look. “Is that a Bluetooth?”

 

“What? I brush my teeth every day!”

 

Brooks chuckled and Jane made an exasperated face. “The thing in your ear, doughnut. Is that something… modern?” she gasped.

 

“Leave me alone,” he replied. “One of the guys at my poker game sells these things. They’re really kinda neat!”

 

“And you know how to use it and everything?”

 

He stuck out his tongue. “Don’t you have work to do? Make some calls or something?” Turning his attention to Brooks, he asked, “What’s on your agenda now? I mean, besides waiting for the day I ever get through to the FRB?”

 

“Well, based on the social media connections I found, I think I got the two musketeers who were with him. Don’t have much there in terms of real evidence, but they don’t know that.”

 

Korsak nodded. “You gonna try and shake them down?”

 

“Might swing by Woodheights Secondary and see how they’re doing.”

 

“Is it a private school?” Brooks nodded. “Then be careful. Give the administrator a call first, let them know you’re coming.”

 

“Pave the road, so to speak.”

 

“Exactly. I hate it as much as anyone, but the money’s gonna make us approach this differently than we might want.”

 

Jane brought the phone up to her ear. "I think it’s a good idea,” she said. “Sometimes all it takes is to put the fear of God into someone. Why don’t we check out the homeowner, then swing past the school? Kill two birds with one stone?”

 

If he was surprised at her offer, his face didn’t show it. “Sounds great.”

 

“I concur,” Korsak said, ignoring Jane’s eyeroll. “If I ever get through to the FRB, and they give me something I can use, I’ll get the ball rolling with the ADA on a warrant. We’ve got the DNA and, if the gun matches, it’ll be more than enough. Speaking of DNA, how’s it coming on the John Doe in the van?”

 

“Oh right,” Jane replied. “Nothing. At least, not yet. Maura’s promised it this afternoon. I’m hoping there will be something on my desk by the time we get back.” She held up a hand and turned away from the conversation. There was a short exchange punctuated with silence, before Jane thanked someone for the time and hung up. "Homeowner #1 didn't know anything about the van. Let's hit up the long term homeowner," she said to Brooks. "Odds are, that's who we're looking for anyway."

 

He stood, patting his pockets for his phone and his keys. Finding both, he drained his coffee and tossed the cup into the garbage. "Whenever you're ready."

 

.....

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

  
  
  


…..

 

When they got into the car, Jane immediately pushed a button on the radio. "Don't tell Maura I chose ESPN over NPR."

 

Brooks snapped his seat belt into place with a chuckle. "My lips are sealed."

 

She pulled the car out of its spot and merged into traffic. "You into sports at all?"

 

"New York kind of made it mandatory."

 

"So... Yankees or Mets?"

 

His chuckle grew into a full blown laugh. "Your brother asked me the very same thing."

 

"Well, he seems to like you, so I'm going with the Mets." This got no response, and she frowned. "Oh, God. Not the Yankees."

 

He couldn't disguise his displeasure. "The Evil Empire?" he snorted. "Not a chance." Jane waited for more, patiently dedicating half her attention to the road and the other to the man on her right. "I'm from Philadelphia," he said at last.

 

"What?" she said in surprise. "That wasn't in your file!"

 

"So you read it?" His amusement softened his words. "There's a lot that's not in that file."

 

She let the words settle before saying, "The price you pay for undercover work, huh?"

 

He shrugged. "At least I got to celebrate Curt Schilling winning the Series with you guys before moving to New York."

 

She nodded her head at the memory. "That's right. He started with the Phillies."

 

"Him and Terry Francona. You're welcome." He punctuated his words with a smile. "Other than baseball, I only know enough to Monday morning quarterback."

 

"In this town, that's all you really need to know," she assured him. With a tilt of her head and a turn of the wheel, she said, "This is the place."

 

His eyes flitted over the house, the yard, and the street. "What's the game plan?"

 

"We're going to have to play it by ear," she admitted. "Ask about the van, and see what kind of reaction we get. Improvise if we have to."

 

"Okay," he replied, unclicking his seat belt.

 

Stepping out of the car, he followed as she led the way up the short walkway. The grass was immaculately cut, and the garage appeared neat and tidy. A 6-foot fence separated the house from its neighbours. Jane glanced around, mentally recording everything. She could tell her partner was doing the same. Two more steps brought them to the door. Jane pushed the doorbell and rocked back on her heels while they waited for an answer. The house was quiet and there didn’t appear to be any movement inside. Just as Jane was about to push the bell again, the door cracked open, stopped by the chain lock.

 

“Yes?”

 

Jane took in the description - white male between the ages of 16 and 20. Short messy dark brown or black hair. Dark eyes that didn’t meet hers. Faded jeans. She couldn’t get much else, because he remained partially hidden behind the door. She casually pulled back her jacket to show her badge.

 

“Arthur Petrusco?”

 

The young man shook his head. “No. Mikail Petrusco. I mean, Arthur is my dad.” He nervously looked from Jane to Brooks.

 

“Can we speak with him?”

 

“He’s… he’s not here. He and my mom are in Seattle. Grandma died on Friday.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sincerely. “Maybe I can talk to you?”

 

“Uh…yeah, I guess.” The door closed long enough for the chain to be unlocked. When it opened again, he asked, “What’s this about?”

 

“Might be easier if we came in.”

 

“Um, you know, I shouldn’t let you do that. I mean…the place is a mess. You know, parents away and all.” His smile was forced.

 

Brooks pressed against Jane, shoulder to shoulder, his attempt at intimidation clearly noticed by the young man. Pretending otherwise, Brooks nonchalantly glanced into the house before pinning Mikail with a gaze.

 

“While the parents are away, the kids will play, right?” Brooks grinned.

 

“Actually, I’m 20, but yeah, something like that,” he answered with false bravado.

 

“We wanted to ask your dad about a white van. Any idea when he’ll be back?” Jane asked.

 

Mikail visibly swallowed. “I, uh, I think Friday. Dad can’t afford to take too much time off work.”

 

Jane nodded. “And what does he do for a living?”

 

“He’s a long-haul driver.”

 

“Good honest job,” Jane commented.

 

“Yeah,” Mikail replied, “he’s a good guy.”

 

“And how about you, Mikail?” she asked. “Are you a good guy?”

 

“I don’t know-”

 

“I mean, what do you do for a living?”

 

He shook his head. “Just school, you know? Automotive Technology.”

 

“Ah, UTI?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, surprised at her question.

 

“Got a brother who went there,” she told him.

 

“Speaking of brothers,” Brooks said, “where’s yours?”

 

Mikail followed the tilt of his chin towards a row of photos on the mantel in the living room. Closing the door slightly, he said, “I don’t have one.”

 

Brooks frowned, but with a side glance from Jane, he didn’t pursue the topic. For her part, Jane handed the young man a card. “When your father gets back, please have him call me. It’s very important. Unless you know something about a white van…?”

 

“No,” he answered quickly. “No. But I’ll make sure he calls you.”

 

Jane nodded appreciatively. “Thanks for your time.” She barely got the words out before the door closed. Turning to Brooks, she remarked, “That was interesting.”

 

The two made their way back to the car, both glancing back at the house. There was a slight movement in the living room window that didn’t go unnoticed by either detective.

 

“So he knows about the van and he’s got a brother.”

 

“Yep,” Jane agreed. “You didn’t get a good look at the picture, did you?”

 

He shook his head. “No. Wasn’t much light. Looked like a standard family photo - two adults and two kids. But definitely two boys. Looked related. Same dark hair, anyway.”

 

They got in the vehicle and sat for a moment before Jane put the key into the ignition. “Do you think our John Doe in the van is this guy’s brother?”

 

“It’s possible,” Brooks replied. “And it sounds just as plausible as anything else right now.”

 

“Remind me to come back here with a photo of the victim. Maybe the neighbours will ID him before the DNA does. In the meantime, I always wanted to go to a private school.” She smiled and put the car into drive.

 

…..

 

"Detectives Brooks and Rizzoli," the administrator said, hand extended. "Nice to see you."

 

"Good of you to let us come in on such short notice, Mrs. Chadley," Jane said, returning the handshake. Wordlessly, she handed the lead to Brooks.

 

"Oh, my pleasure. And call me Caroline. We're always keen to help the police in any way we can. Please, come into my office. The students have already been called."

 

The room was spacious, yet surprisingly homey, lacking the framed academia Jane was so used to seeing in similar settings. The desk was the obligatory mahogany, but the pretentiousness stopped there. Rather than the opulent leather chairs that were often paired with the desk, there were four chairs of assorted patterns and shapes positioned in a semi-circle. The hardwood floor was partially covered with a circular rug, and there was an 8x10 photo on the window ledge.

 

"I know it's rather blasphemous," Caroline said, seeing Jane's interest in the picture. "But I'm originally from Chicago. I'm required by law to display the photo of Ryne Sandberg and me."

 

“He started with the Phillies, didn’t he?” Jane asked.

 

Though the question was a general one, Brooks narrowed his eyes at her amusement. He avoided a reply by pointing to the police officer in the picture. "Is that your father?"

 

Caroline's eyes lit up in surprise. "Yes. How did you guess?"

 

"Same smile," he replied, giving her one of his own.

 

The intercom on the desk crackled to life. "Adam Mercer and Kyle Fowler here to see you."

 

The headmaster circled around her desk and spoke into the speaker. "Send them in." To the detectives, she gestured to the four seats. "Please."

 

Jane watched as Brooks angled an end chair to face the two in the middle, and she did the same. Had the detectives not known, the boys could have been any age between 13 and 17, such was their hair and their demeanour. Their private school uniforms made their age even harder to pin down. Brooks had given her the rundown on the teens, and it was easy to figure out who was who. Adam Mercer was the taller of the two, by a good 6 inches. Lanky in frame, his limbs looked like they had grown just a little faster than the rest of his body, his hair a mop of blonde. Kyle was the stocky one, and a near diametric opposite to his friend. Both boys looked at the headmaster before she gestured to them to sit. Jane looked across to Brooks and gave a subtle nod.

 

“Thanks for coming in,” Brooks said. Nonchalantly taking out a notebook from his breast pocket, he flipped through the pages. “You’re Adam and you’re Kyle?” The identified teens nodded. He checked his notes again. “You’ve got some pretty good grades. Think you’ll make the Honour Roll, Adam?”

 

The young man shrugged. “I’m trying. Eastern Lit might trip me up, though.”

 

Brooks nodded. “You’re not doing so bad yourself, Kyle. Could squeak out the A. I just have one question: how do you boys keep up with your grades while you’re hanging around Roxbury at 3 in the morning on a school night?”

 

Adam made a face. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re not ThatDamGuy? ‘It’s my mercy you better be hopin’/When I ask for the register be open/’Cuz it’s my Glock that you gotta be copin’.’ Brooks looked up. “I can see why English is giving you trouble.”

 

The teen shrugged. “We’re doing poetry right now. Mr. Bishop doesn’t think rap qualifies. I think he’s wrong.”

 

“So do I,” Brooks agreed, “but I’m more interested in the words, not the legitimacy of it as an art form. Do you own a Glock?”

 

He snorted. “No.”

 

“So your rhyming triplet is all bullshit?”

 

“It’s fiction. You know, made up.”

 

“So you’re a bit of a poser?” Adam bristled at the accusation, but Brooks blithely ignored him. “How about you, Kyle? Interesting tweet from Monday morning: _The Berry went boom boom last night!_  I'm new to the area, but Detective Rizzoli was kind enough to inform me ‘The Berry’ means ‘Roxbury’, is that right? Did you tweet that before or after I saw you at the skatepark?” He didn’t wait for the answer. Tucking the notebook back into his pocket, he casually sat back and picked a piece of lint from his knee. “Here’s the thing - I don’t give a shit about what happened. I’ve got Anthony Waltz dead to rights on three murders in that convenience store.”

 

“Wait, what?” Caroline interjected. “What’s this about?”

 

“There was a holdup in Roxbury Sunday night,” Jane explained. “It ended with three people dead. The suspects match the description of these two students and Anthony Waltz.”

 

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

 

Adam waved it off. “You’re just trying to scare us.” He looked to his right. “Just keep your mouth shut, Kyle. They can’t arrest us for some Tweets.”

 

“Very true,” Brooks nodded. “But I can arrest someone if I found their blood at the crime scene. Does Anthony have a little owie?” He watched as the relevance of his comment dawned on the two boys. “Yeah. Now you’re wondering what we have on you. I’ll let you think about that one for a while. In the meantime, I want to know what you two saw in the window that night. Something drew Anthony’s attention away for a split second. What was it?” Jane quickly glanced over, her confusion evident, but his gaze didn’t waver from the pair.

 

Kyle finally broke the silence. “Someone looked into the store. I didn’t really see him, though. Too dark.”

 

“Shut it, Kyle!”

 

He looked at Adam. “What? I told you it was stupid to go with Tony that night. Besides, we’re minors; none of this is official because our parents aren’t here.”

 

“Your father’s a very good lawyer,” the headmaster said to Kyle. “It’s unfortunate you don’t spend more time with him. Police are not required to have a parental guardian present when questioning a minor, just as they’re not required to read your Miranda Rights until they arrest you.” She sighed. “Kyle, I suggest you not say another word until you call your father. The same goes for you, Adam.” She looked apologetically at the detectives. “I’m sorry, but I have a responsibility to protect my students, regardless of what they might have done.”

 

“Of course,” Brooks said.

 

“Does it mean anything to you?” Jane asked the teens. “Whatever the intent was when you went in there, whether it was robbery or something else, it ended with three people dead. And now you’ve thrown your lives away, too. Both of you are fourteen. You will be tried as adults, do you get it? Armed robbery is a _minimum_ of five years. You’re an accessory after the fact to three homicides committed during that robbery. Six lives ruined. And for what?”

 

There was no answer from either boy, and the room was deathly quiet. Shaking her head, Jane stood and extended her hand to Caroline. “Thank you for your time.”

 

“What happens to them now?”

 

“Well, we know they’re not going anywhere. We’re just waiting for an additional piece of evidence to come through.” Jane didn’t mention the gun. "They need to lawyer up because we'll most likely be picking them up sometime tonight."

 

Caroline walked them to the door. Casting a backward glance at the teens, she shook her head. "I don't even know what to say," she admitted. "It's the last thing I expected."

 

Brooks gave her a consoling smile. "Thanks for seeing us."

 

"Should I call in Anthony Waltz and tell him?"

 

Jane tilted her chin towards the pair who were furiously tapping their phones. "They're doing it for you."

 

With a final goodbye, they left the office. Taking a deep breath, Jane said, "Sorry about the big speech back there..." She stopped when she saw Brooks make eye contact with a student who was leaning against the wall.

 

"Anthony Waltz," he said.

 

The resulting grin was cocky and sure. "My friends call me 'Stretch'."

 

"Good thing I'm not your friend, huh?"

 

The diminutive teen shrugged. "Looks like you made Adam and Kyle shit their pants. Good job." Brooks began to walk towards him. "You can't do anything." His eyes flitted to the corners of the hallway. "Cameras everywhere."

 

The warning didn't dissuade the detective, and the boy began to inch backwards. "Standard issue video," Brooks said. "Distributed by Komichi Cameras, the industry's #1 supplier of surveillance cameras in the United States." His approach continued, and he spoke with quiet nonchalance. "Great for the long range shot, but as with any camera, once you get too close, the narrowness of the range makes it impossible to get the whole picture." He glanced over his shoulder, then back to the teen who was slowly losing his bravado. "Are you good at Geometry, Anthony? Because the field of view for a Komichi camera is 112 degrees. I know that sounds like a lot, but it’s a pretty small window. Which we'll be out of right... about... now."

 

Waltz rolled his eyes. "So what? You still can't do anything. You lay a hand on me, and all I have to do is show the bruise. Bam! Police brutality." A thought seemed to occur to him. "In fact, I'm kinda willing to take it - my street cred would be off the charts."

 

Brooks scratched his eyebrow and looked at Jane. She saw something in his eyes. With an imperceptible nod, she took a step forward to block any remaining view. Grinning with menace, Brooks lowered his hand and in the blink of an eye, grabbed the startled student by the groin.

 

"Hey," he squeaked.

 

"Let me tell you a little something about myself, _Stretch_ ," he mockingly emphasized the name. "I was undercover for almost 5 years. Saw and did things that would make your balls shrivel up. But it was my job. What you're doing, it's just dress-up, isn't it? You're not living on desperation. You're not stuck in the shit because your parents couldn't get out, forced into the cycle because society's stacked the deck against you. You're not even doing it because you see yourself as a businessman. Hell, at least then, I'd have some kind of respect for you. But you're not playing the part because you have to in order to survive. You're playing it because what? It's fun?" The only response was a gasping wheeze. Brooks squeezed a bit harder. "The biggest favour I could do for the world would be to make sure you could never procreate. But considering the prison sentence you're facing, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

 

The click of the door made Brooks drop his hand, and the kid fell to one knee. Caroline stepped out of the waiting room and abruptly came to a stop.

 

"What's going on here?"

 

"Detective Rizzoli lost a contact," Brooks said. "This student was nice enough to help us find it."

 

Her eyes went from Brooks to Jane to the teen, and back to Brooks. "Right. What a stroke of luck, detectives. This student is Anthony Waltz. I was just about to come and get you, Anthony."

 

"Oh, his friends call him 'Stretch'," Jane said.

 

"I'd like to... I'd like to file a complaint on these officers, Mrs. Chadley," Waltz choked out.

 

"I'm sure everything you'll need will be on camera, won't it, Mr. Waltz?" Brooks asked, patting him on the shoulder.  

 

Caroline rubbed her forehead. "You might want to leave now, detectives.  Anthony, you'd better come with me and call your parents." She helped him to his feet and escorted him into the office.

 

The door closed and Brooks turned to Jane. "No reason to apologize for your big speech," he said, repeating her earlier words. "Don't let the suit fool you - my grandmother had 2 jobs to keep the house going. I had my chance to make different decisions, but I couldn't do it to her. Still, I think of how different her life would've been if we’d had money. So this?" He jerked his chin towards the door. "It's needless bullshit."

 

Jane weighed the words and pieced them together with the image she was making of her new partner. “It _is_ a nice suit,” she admitted.

 

He chuckled as they made their way out of the building. “Are you giving me a compliment?”

 

She brushed aside his question with a dismissive shrug. “I know Maura thinks it’s a nice suit.”

 

“She does seem to like nice things.”

 

“Are you flirting with me?”

 

They reached the car and he opened the door. “I was talking about the Mercedes, but you’re free to believe whatever you like.”

 

She looked across the roof of the car, pinning him with a gaze that he returned in kind. They stood like this for a full minute before she burst out laughing. “Get in the damn car!”

 

…..

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

  
  
  


…..

 

They spoke about their respective cases on the way back to the station, with Brooks filling her in on what he saw on the video, and why he had asked the two boys. In turn, she told him she was confident in his case, though she wasn’t sure where she was with hers.

 

“I need to find a connection between the van and the Petruscos,” she said. “Or the van and anyone. It’ll be hard to figure out a direction if I don’t have some kind of starting point. Right now, I have a dead kid and a white van. Which is what I had when I showed up at the crime scene in the first place.”

 

“Maybe the DNA will come through,” he suggested.

 

“That _would_ be a starting point,” she agreed. They stepped into the bullpen and she nudged Brooks. “Look at Pantomime Joe.”

 

Korsak was talking to no one, gesturing as he spoke. He must have seen them out of the corner of his eye, because he turned his head and waved them over. They were just catching the tail end of the conversation when he reached up to touch his ear. “The only thing I don’t like about these Bluetooth things - I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

 

Jane pretended to make charade signs. “Three words. First word, Stop. Second, Doing. Third, That.” She purposely tangled her fingers together.

 

“Very funny, Squeaky.” When the name drew a blank stare, Korsak said, “Jay Johnson and Squeaky? _Celebrity Charades_? You kids don’t know anything.”

 

“Can you tell us something else we don’t know, but maybe something useful this time?” Jane asked.

 

“Hmph,” he said, looking away. “This doesn’t concern you. This is for Brooks.”

 

“I’ll cover my ears,” she promised.

 

Ignoring her, Korsak continued, “Once I got through to the Firearms Registry, it all snowballed from there. The Waltzes’ own several guns. Guess what one of them is?”

 

“.45 Glock,” Brooks said.

 

“Yep. Even better, it’s a G30.”

 

Jane smiled. “Infamous pinky pinch.”

 

“I thought you were covering your ears? Besides, Maura might have brought some DNA results for you.”

 

Her head whipped around to her desk. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“I did.” He began waving his hands around.

 

“How about this charade?” Jane asked, flipping him the bird.

 

Brooks laughed. “So that’s good news. Thanks for doing the shitty work.”

 

Korsak held up a finger. “ _And_...I sent a copy of the blood work and the gun record to Janelle Bardsley, our resident ADA. She’s going to try and get you in front of a judge before the end of the day to file the affidavit for the search warrant. She’s one of the good guys, so it’ll probably be, shall we say, a favourable judge.”

 

“Well, I’m glad someone got some good news,” Jane said from her desk. Flipping through the file, it was clear she wasn’t happy with the results.

 

Dropping into his chair, Brooks said, “Nothing conclusive?”

 

She sighed. “Nothing in the NDIS. I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

 

Korsak hummed. “So he’s not in the system.”

 

“Nope.” Jane sat back and pondered the situation. “I'll wait for the Petruscos to come back from Seattle. You’d think if their son went missing, they’d call the police.”

 

“The who?” Korsak asked.

 

“The Petruscos. Arthur and,” she checked her notes, “Ruth Petrusco. We’re pretty certain they own the white van.” She saw his puzzled expression. “What is it?”

 

“Arthur and Ruth Petrusco already lost a son. In ‘99? Maybe 2000. They lived in Marion at the time. Andrei Petrusco. He couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3. Bulletin was sent out to every station in Massachusetts.”

 

Jane snapped her fingers. “Taken from a mall. He was lured away by a couple.”

 

“Tina Shaw and Brady Camarillo.”

 

“Caught on camera?” Brooks asked.

 

Korsak nodded. “Media fucked up though and put their faces on the front page of every newspaper. They panicked and killed the kid. She turned herself in a week later and he shot himself. Thing is, I only remember the Petruscos having two sons at the time. There was a 4 or 5 year old in the mix, too.”

 

Shaking her head, Jane told Korsak, “We saw at least one family photo that had two teenage sons.”

 

“Maybe they adopted?”

 

“When I asked, the kid said he didn’t have a brother,” Brooks said. “It didn’t make sense.”

 

“None of this makes sense,” Jane said. “We have a family who had two sons, lost one, but has two again. Even though one son denies it.”

 

“Do we know the body in the van is this mysterious second son?” Korsak asked.

 

Jane conceded the point. “We haven’t had a chance to go over the family records. We’re still stuck on the damn van.”

 

“So let’s go back to the kid in the van until the Petruscos get back from...where?”

 

“Seattle.”

 

“Okay, Seattle. No distinguishing marks? No clothing we can trace back to a specific source?”

 

“Nope,” Jane said. “And no help from the dental records. He looks to be about 17, but nothing stands out about him.”

 

Brooks absently tapped a pen against his lips. “You guys have a Lost Child Registry in Massachusetts?”

 

“Where they keep files of fingerprints and blood samples?” Korsak asked. “Yeah, there’s one right here in Boston.”

 

“Maybe run the DNA through their files,” he suggested.

 

“They found the Petrusco kid,” Korsak reminded him. “The DNA won’t match.”

 

Jane began to shake her head as she picked up Brooks’ lead. “It’s not just missing kids that are on file,” she said. “The Registry does information fairs where they’ll create a file for your kid, free of charge.”

 

“I don’t know about here,” Brooks said, “but I know in New York, parents will give a sample of their own to go in the file.”

 

“It’s in case something happens to the parents and the kid goes missing, or if they find the kid years later. Makes it easier to I.D. the remains,” Jane added.

 

“So you’re thinking there’s a chance the victim had cautious parents and put his DNA in the Lost Child Registry,” Korsak surmised.

 

“Or theirs. Or both,” Jane said.

 

Korsak nodded. “Okay. Start with the Massachusetts chapter, but if you don’t get anything, make it a national search. I’m getting a bad vibe from this case.”

 

“Sure it’s not the two doughnuts you ate for breakfast?” Jane asked, much to Brooks’ amusement.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Start that DNA search, then find out where Frankie is on that road painting project you put him on.”

 

“Can you give me the number for the ADA?” Brooks asked. “I’ll see if she’s set up a meeting.”

 

Jane tilted her chin up in Korsak’s direction. “And what are you going to do while we do all the work?”

 

Sitting back, he patted his belly. “I’m going to work on figuring out what I’m having for lunch.”

 

…..

 

Lunch came and went, but beyond a short visit to the morgue, Jane was glued to her seat, watching sample upon sample of DNA records flash across her monitor. She had been able to track down the second of the three neighbours who had lived on the other side of Roberto Malini. They, too, claimed no knowledge of the van. Just after 3, Frankie walked out of BRIC with a triumphant look on his face.

 

Holding up several printouts, he announced, "Was able to cross-reference the van with the road work. At 3:58, it crossed the Columbia/Stoughton intersection, 15 minutes after it had been painted."

 

Jane let her head fall back in exaggerated relief. "Thank God. That's only 2 streets over from the Petruscos." She saw his confusion. "Our number 1 suspect. At least, when it comes to who might own the van."

 

"All right!" he said. "That's a good thing, right?"

 

"Yep."

 

He noticed the movement on her screen. "What's that?"

 

"A DNA search through the Lost Child Registry database," she explained. "The DNA from the victim didn't come up in any NDIS search, so..."

 

"You think maybe he's a missing kid?"

 

She shook her head. "Not necessarily. We're thinking maybe his parents put his information on file as a precaution."

 

"Like Ma did for us?" Jane nodded. "Remember that? What a mess. Tommy ended up putting the fingerprint ink under his eyes and ran around yelling, 'Look at me, I'm Wade Boggs!"

 

She covered her face and laughed at the memory. "Ma was losing her mind."

 

“Good thinking on that child registry thing, though.”

 

“Actually,” she said, “it was Brooks’ idea.”

 

The admission, full of unspoken meaning, passed between them. Rather than make a big deal out of it, Frankie simply said, “That’s good. Nothing showing up yet in Boston?”

 

She scoffed, more at the scope of the task that faced her than his comment. “This is the national database. I’ve already gone through Massachusetts.”

 

“Wow. Nothing, huh? Does that make it more or less likely you’ll get a hit?”

 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “At this point, I’ll take a missing kid from Pluto if it means IDing our vic.”

 

“Does the registry have that kind of scope?” Brooks asked as he walked into the bullpen.

 

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” Frankie greeted.

 

“Not much. Stood in front of a Boston magistrate for the first time. Let me tell you, the next time someone makes fun of a New York accent…”

 

“Ah got no ideear what you maht be tawkin abaht,” Frankie mimicked.

 

Brooks groaned. “Yes, that right there. Yet you two are surprisingly understandable.”

 

Chuckling, Frankie said, “Workin’ at the station probably helps. Lots of different dialects. We just mash ‘em all tugeddah. Take Detective Crowe here for instance.” He raised a hand in greeting at the man who entered the room. “He’s actually from West Virginia, ain’t that right?”

 

The new arrival grunted. He made hard eye contact with Brooks before sitting at his desk.

 

“Shit, is it that time already?” Jane checked her watch. “Hey, it’s not even 5. You’re here early, Crowe.”

 

“Got a few things I’m workin’ on. Figured I’d make an appearance. Besides, I wanted to see the new guy.”

 

“Ash Brooks,” he introduced himself.

 

“Oh yeah. Believe me, I know who you are.” When the comment got nothing more than three confused looks in return, he said, “I got some friends in the NYPD. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

The tone sounded sinister, but Brooks didn’t take the bait. “I look forward to hearing more about you.”

 

“I look forward to hearing more about these alleged ‘friends’ you have, Crowe,” Jane added. “I mean, I didn’t know you had any. Anywhere.”

 

“Very funny. You’d better put that attitude away this weekend. Or have you forgotten about the charity basketball game?”

 

The 4-on-4 was an annual event between departments that not only raised money for several organizations, but gave 12 months of bragging rights to the winning team. “I’ve been trying to forget your fat ass cost us the tournament last year.”

 

Ignoring her jab, he said, “Well, Vanoss is out with a bum knee, so maybe your new partner will do us all a favour and step in.”

 

The way he said ‘new partner’ made the hackles rise on the back of Jane’s neck. It was one thing for her to be wary of a new face, but she wasn’t going to hear it from someone else. Especially someone like Crowe.

 

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” she told him. “If not, I got work to do.”

 

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you end up with egg on your face.”

 

Jane watched Brooks intently watching Crowe. His blue eyes seemed to take in everything, measuring the man and his words. But whatever conclusion he came to, he kept to himself. Frankie shuffled from one foot to the other, and the room seemed to have lost all sound.

 

“Well this isn’t awkward at all,” Frankie finally said.

 

Holding Crowe’s gaze for a few more seconds, Brooks at last turned to Jane. “The magistrate has issued a search warrant for the Waltz residence,” he informed her. “But because it’s so late in the day, it won’t be filed until morning. I’ll pick it up first thing.”

 

“Sounds good,” she replied, still uncertain of what just transpired. “Frankie tracked the van and the street paint; it was 2 streets from the Petruscos. And I’m still working on that LCR search. I’ll leave it running overnight. Hopefully I’ll have something when I come in tomorrow.”

 

He nodded. “Great. Feels good to get the ball rolling.”

 

“Why don’t we call it a day?” Jane asked. “It’ll give you time to get home and do whatever it is you need to do before 7.”

 

“How long will it take for me to get from Bay Village to Beacon Hill?”

 

She scribbled an address on a piece of paper. “Take Cortes up to Berkeley. Stay away from Beacon Street; all the one-ways seem to head south. Shouldn’t take you more than 8-10 minutes, depending on traffic.” She handed him the note.

 

“Seems fairly straight forward,” he agreed.

 

He stood, and without another look in Crowe’s direction, he said his goodbyes to Frankie and was quickly out the door. Jane watched him walk out of the bullpen and wondered what she had missed.

 

…..

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

 

…..

 

The doorbell rang at 6:58 and Maura looked up from setting the dinner table.

 

“He’s very punctual!”

 

Putting the TV on mute, Jane stood up from the couch and sauntered over to the door. “I bet he sat at the end of the street for 15 minutes.” She saw Maura fidgeting with the silverware. “Everything looks great. You look great. Why are you so nervous?”

 

“I don’t know,” she confessed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, I still have this on!” She quickly untied it and tossed it in a nearby drawer. “I just want to make sure it all goes well. He’s your new partner and I want to make a good impression.”

 

“Good impression? You two practically reserved tickets for the New York fashion show the first time you met.” Her voice softened. “He likes you. And, you know, I’m kinda starting to like him.”

 

“Really?” Her face lit up.

 

She shrugged, as if not noticing Maura’s joy. “We’ll see. Dinner will be the deal breaker.”

 

“You’re not helping!”

 

With a grin, Jane opened the door. Giving him the once-over, she remarked, “Jeans, huh? We weren’t sure what to expect.”

 

He leaned forward, voice lowered. “Was I supposed to wear a suit?”

 

“No,” she said, stepping to the side. “Casual’s fine with me. She just dresses like that all the time.” Jane tilted her head towards Maura. “Come on in.”

 

Stepping inside, he held out a bag and a six-pack. “I heard Frankie mention something about fudge clusters yesterday. Figured it was a safe bet. The beer’s from Philly. Thought you might want to give it a go.”

 

“Boy, does he have our number, Maura,” she said. “Chocolate and beer. And you were worried things wouldn’t go well.”

 

“Worried?” he repeated. “I hope I don’t make things uncomfortable.”

 

“No, no, it’s just me,” Maura assured him. “I’ve been told I’m something of a perfectionist.”

 

“Who would ever say such a thing?” Jane asked, rolling her eyes. To Brooks, she said, “I should probably offer you wine before we crack open the beer. Do you have a favourite?”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t know wine from grapes,” he admitted. “We’re having lasagna? So something red, right?”

 

“Very good,” Maura said. “I have a very nice Rioja crianza I’ve been dying to try.”

 

“Sounds great.”

 

“Have a seat. Dinner’s warming in the oven.”

 

Both Jane and Brooks sat at the table, and he looked around the house. “So this is living in Beacon Hill, huh?” He nodded appreciatively. “This is very nice. You have a very lovely home.”

 

“It’s all her, believe me,” Jane said.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t imagine that framed Garciaparra jersey is hers.”

 

It was down the hall, away from casual observers, and not for the first time did she note his attention to detail. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

 

“Habit. Sorry.”

 

“No,” she replied, “don’t apologize. It’s a good trait to have. And she’ll feel a lot better having you watch my back if she knows you have super-vision.”

 

“Who needs supervision?” Maura asked from the kitchen.

 

Jane stood. “You do if you’re going to try and carry all that to the table by yourself.” She met Maura at the granite island and slipped on the oven mitts. “You bring the wine, I’ll bring the food.”

 

After some manoeuvering and shifting of plates and cutlery and seats, the three settled to eat. Jane gave Brooks a generous portion of lasagna, while Maura made sure to top up his wine glass. The garlic bread was passed around, and a sense of ease came over the table.

 

“This is all really very nice,” he said, repeating his earlier refrain. “I appreciate the invitation.” He mopped up some of the sauce with his bread. “And your mother cooks like a saint.”

 

As if summoned by his words, Angela Rizzoli arrived through the side door. Jane did a double-take, then shot an accusing glare at Brooks. “Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered fiercely. “You’ve called forth the demon.”

 

“I heard that, Jane Clementine Rizzoli!” Angela shouted. “Oh! Detective Brooks. How are you?”

 

He stood from the table to greet her. “I’m well. And I hear I have you to thank for this wonderful lasagna.”

 

She waved away his compliment. “Oh, it’s nothing!”

 

“But she’ll tell you how long she slaved over it in the kitchen if you ask.”

 

“You need to take lessons from your new partner on how you treat your mother,” Angela said. Back to Brooks, she smiled. “I’m so glad you like it.”

 

Jane opened her mouth for another retort, but Maura quickly interjected. “Was there something I could get for you, Angela?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, no. I could smell the lasagna from the guesthouse. I just thought I’d come get some, but why don’t you take the leftovers, Detective?”

 

“Please, call me ‘Ash’,” he insisted. “And I’d love to take some home, thank you.”

 

“If there’s any left,” Jane said. “Because, you know, we just started eating, Ma.”

 

“Alright, alright, never let it be said I can’t take a hint.” She placed an exaggerated sloppy kiss on Jane’s cheek, much to her chagrin. “I’ll leave you kids to it. It was nice to see you again, Detective. I mean, Ash.”

 

“Oh God,” Jane muttered as she watched her mother leave. Turning to Brooks, she said, “Don’t mind her. I never do. And the bit about the middle name-” she pointed her bread knife towards him, “Forget you ever heard it."

 

His mouth twitched and he mimed a zipper across his lips.

 

Maura stepped in for Jane. "In the interest of full disclosure, my middle name is 'Dorthea'."

 

"Sorry to disappoint," he said. "'Henry'. But... if it makes you feel any better, my first name is 'Ashinghurst'." He took a sip of wine, though Jane nearly spit hers out.

 

"It's what? 'Ashingwhat'?"

 

“‘Ashinghurst’,” Maura repeated. “I believe the origin is Irish?”

 

“Whatever you know of the name, don’t waste the space in your brain!” Brooks laughed. “It’s horrible, I know.”

 

“Why didn’t you go with ‘Henry’ or ‘Hank’?” Jane asked, wiping her chin.

 

He wrinkled his nose. “Because that’s Great Uncle Henry’s name. His idea of fun was to take out his dentures and go around flapping his gums at all the kids. Scared the shit out of me.”

 

Maura covered her cough with a napkin. “It’s a surname, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes. It’s a family tradition to give the first born male a family surname. ‘Ashinghurst’ was my grandmother’s maiden name. Could be worse - my other grandmother’s maiden name was ‘Hogarth’.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Yes, I’d be known as a sandwich.”

 

“Hoagie,” Jane snickered.

 

“Orange,” he bantered back.

 

“Hey! I told you to forget that. Besides, that’d be a great name; you’re from Philly. ‘Hoagie’ makes sense.”

 

"Oh, you're from Philadelphia?" Maura asked. "How did you end up undercover in New York?"

 

"Started in the Philly PD right out of college," he began. "Didn't really know what I wanted to do, though. Patrol? Gang Unit? Homicide? Bounced around until I made a drug bust I had been setting up for months. The brass liked what I was doing, so the transition to Narcotics became permanent."

 

"Did you do undercover work in Philly?" Jane asked.

 

He shook his head. "No. Straight up busts and arrests. Then the NYPD put out some feelers for recruits. They were having problems throwing guys into UC: either their experience made their faces too easy to identify, or the college grads didn't have the confidence."

 

Jane nodded. "I remember; Martinez was pissed when one of his best took them up on their offer."

 

This caught Brooks' interest. "Oh? You worked Narcotics?"

 

"Vice, yeah. Just long enough to want to get the hell out. Leon Verane. Did you know him?"

 

He looked off to the side and tried to process the name. "Hmm, no, can't say that I did. Of course, very few of us knew each other by our real names.  Recruiters came to us, and if they liked what  saw, covers were created before we got to New York."

 

"That sounds incredibly nerve-wracking," Maura said. "I can't imagine going to a new city with all that to carry with you."

 

"It was easier than I thought, truth be told," he admitted. "Once I got on that plane, I never looked back."

 

Maura made a motion to refill his wine glass, and he acquiesced with a tilt of his head. "What was your name? Did you choose it, or..." Jane saw his jaw clench, and she reached under the table to touch Maura's leg. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "It's really none of my business."

 

His eyes softened. "No, I'm sorry. I've been conditioned to be suspicious of questions."

 

"The nature of undercover work," Jane said.

 

"Yes," he agreed. "Hank Schmidt. That was my name."

 

Maura's eyes widened in amusement. "You took your great uncle's name?"

 

He laughed. "Yeah. Figured I'd never forget it, and I'd be able to keep up the image of a scowling bastard if I had people calling me his name."

 

"And 'Schmidt' is for Mike." He smiled and Jane gave a small fist pump. "Mike Schmidt," she explained to Maura. "Phillies' legend. Played third base."

 

"It was another one of those 'pick one you won't forget' names. And it was common enough not to raise eyebrows."

 

"Did you get your fashion sense before or after the under cover job?"

 

He shook his head and chuckled, and Jane mistook the gesture. "You just have to tell her to stop."

 

"Oh," Maura said with some embarrassment. "I'm asking too much, aren't I?"

 

"No, really, it's okay," he assured her. "I got my fashion sense from my wife. Ex-wife."

 

Maura frowned sympathetically at the correction. "I imagine the job must have made things difficult."

 

"I imagine me arresting her for drug trafficking made things difficult," he said with a wry smile.

 

Jane's fork hit her plate with a clang, and Maura's mouth dropped open.

 

"That's ballsy," Jane said.

 

Shrugging, he said, "That was the job. And now I can tell the difference between Tom Ford and TJ Maxx."

 

"Speaking of suits, what was up with Crowe today?"

 

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

 

"What happened?" Maura asked.

 

"He seemed to think he had some dirt on Brooks."

 

"I don't know how he'd know anything about me," Brooks said. "Only my recruiter knew my real name, and even then, the unit was pretty tight. If there are secrets to be had, no one from Narcotics would spill. So..."

 

Jane looked at him over the rim of her wine glass. "Are there secrets to be had?"

 

He mirrored her action, draining the remainder of his wine. "Aren't there always?"

 

Jane held his gaze, and while her eyes searched for some kind of response, his gave none. Finally, she broke the silence with a shrug and a groan as she sat back and patted her stomach. "Don't tell Ma, but that might have been the best lasagna she's ever made."

 

"In my limited experience with your mother’s cooking, that was absolutely delicious," Brooks agreed.

 

"I'll be sure to pack you the leftovers," Maura smiled. "In the meantime, do we have room for tiramisu and coffee?"

 

“Ohhhh, I shouldn’t,” Brooks said.

 

Jane smiled. “But he will.”

 

“But I will.”

 

She stood and touched Maura on the shoulder. “I’ll get the dessert; you somehow make coffee come out of that science fiction machine.”

 

…..

 

“I think that went really well,” Maura said. Brooks had left an hour ago, and Jane had dragged her to the couch to watch the last two innings of the game under the pretense that the dishes weren’t going anywhere. “And you’re right - the dishes are still here.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Jane replied. They stood side-by-side, clearing off plates and wrapping up the last of the dessert. “I’m surprised you didn’t give him the tiramisu, too.”

 

“Your mother makes lasagna on a regular basis; she rarely makes tiramisu. I like him, but I’m not quite willing to give up dessert just yet.” She wiped the counter and ignored Jane’s grin. “Anyway, how do you think it went?”

 

“Better than I thought,” Jane confessed. “I mean, I did kind of wonder if it would be awkward, but it was okay.”

 

“Almost five years undercover,” she said. “That must have been hard. Did you know?”

 

“I read the file. Or at least, what was in the file.”

 

“You’re thinking about what he said about secrets.” Jane shrugged, and Maura said, “Everyone has secrets. Well, except me, of course.”

 

Jane wiped her hands and reached out to pull Maura close. “You don’t have secrets?”

 

“Not a one.”

 

Jane waited for the hives to come, and when none appeared, she hummed. “Okay, I guess I believe you.”

 

She laughed. “And what about you? Any secrets?”

 

“Nope.” Jane looked away and pretended to whistle. Her ruse lasted all of 30 seconds. “Okay, I cheated off of Joanne Miller’s eighth grade geography test.

 

Maura laughed again and leaned up to drop a soft kiss on Jane’s lips. “You did very well.”

 

“Of course I did; she was a genius.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, she said, “You know what I mean. Tonight. You did very well, especially considering the circumstances.”

 

Jane shrugged. “It’s weird. I think one reason I’m starting to accept him is because a part of me doesn’t believe he’s permanent. Like he’s a temporary replacement, and why wouldn’t I be okay with that?” She briefly closed her eyes. “But then there’s a part of me that knows… that knows Frost isn’t coming back. That’s when it hits me.”

 

“And that’s when your defences come up and you shut people out. But no one expects things to change overnight. It will take time. It takes a brave person to accept change, and you’re the bravest person I know.”

 

Jane was quiet for a moment, then said, “I am pretty brave, aren’t I?”

 

The tone went from serious to lighthearted in an instant, and Maura knew that was part of Jane’s healing process, too. “Yes, you are.”

 

“Brave people get presents, you know. Like a pin or a ribbon or a medical examiner.”

 

She fought the smile that tugged at her mouth. “You already have one of those.”

 

“Can never have too many.”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” She looked around Jane to the pile of dishes by the sink. “Why don’t you fill the dishwasher while I go upstairs? I’m sure I can find something to wear for you to unwrap.” With a deliberate sway to her hips, she walked away and laughed when she heard the cacophony of dishes hastily being thrown together.

 

…..

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

 

…..

 

The bullpen was quiet as the day crew slowly trickled in. The sun was just beginning to creep in the windows, and more than half the room was still shrouded in the near-darkness.

 

"Hey old timer!" Jane barked at a dozing Korsak.

 

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

 

She chuckled and dropped into her chair, turning on the desk lamp. The light illuminated the toy robot that still stood on Brooks' desk, a sentinel keeping watch. She was warmed at the thought.

 

“Must be a lineup at Boston Joe’s,” Korsak said. “He was here yesterday before I was.”

 

“Brooks? Who’s going to tell him the new guy only buys coffee the first day?”

 

Korsak snorted. “Not me. That coffee’s way too good and way too expensive for my budget.”

 

“Hell, yeah,” Jane agreed. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. Blinking the last remnants of sleep away, she saw a folder on her desk with a small Post-It note attached.

 

_Read this._

 

Furrowing her brow, she flipped open the manila folder, only to discover another handwritten note inside.

 

_I know a guy with the Feds. Not too high up, but high enough to know about this case. Leon Verane’s doing time because of this shitbag. Ask him where his money came from. You ok with him being your partner?_

 

Underneath the note were a handful of photographs and a photocopy of a federal deposition. Her eyes scanned over words and images, and with each passing minute, her expression became darker and darker.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Brooks said upon his arrival. “Had to stop at the morgue to drop off a coffee… or whatever that is Dr. Isles drinks. And to ask her if she’d come with me when I issue the warrant to the Waltzes.” He handed Korsak his drink and set Jane’s down on her desk. His eyes went from the folder to her face. “What is it?”

 

Abruptly standing, she collected the file and tersely said, “Let’s go,” before making her way to the interrogation room.

 

Brooks looked at Korsak who could only shrug his response. “All right,” he said quietly under his breath and followed her lead.

 

Inside the room, she waited for him to enter before slamming the door behind him. The folder was slapped onto the table, partially spilling its contents across the metal surface. He casually pulled out a chair and sat, watching while she paced the room.

 

“You want to explain that to me?”

 

His hand reached out to collect the folder. Skimming the contents, he gave a mirthless chuckle when he read the note. “Let me guess - Detective Crowe?”

 

She spun in his direction. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

 

In a tone just as flat as hers, he replied, “That’s all you’ve got?” When she pulled back in surprise, he said, “I thought you were going to show me pictures of me kneecapping someone with a baseball bat.”

 

“You got one of our best guys sent to federal prison in exchange for a lighter sentence.”

 

His eyebrows rose. “Who?”

 

She leaned over the table and tapped a photo. It was a black and white of Brooks and another man standing outside a news vendor. “Leon Verane. You said you didn’t know him, but there seems to be a whole lot of pictures of you with him.”

 

Brooks glanced down. “I told you I didn’t know Leon Verane, and I didn’t until just now. I know him as Clint Franelli. As for Crowe’s inside Fed?” He made a derisive snort.

 

“What about him?”

 

He shook his head. “You don’t really want to know, do you? You’ve already got your mind made up about me. Had it the minute we met, didn’t you?”

 

She stepped back and leaned against the wall. “Answering a question with a question. That’s Avoidance 101.”

 

His laugh was empty. “Okay.” He held up a photo and said, “Clint Franelli. Doing a 3-5 at Club Fed in Tennessee. Should’ve been doing a 15-25, but turned state’s witness.” He lifted the deposition and flicked it in her direction. “Clint was recruited to infiltrate the Barese family. I was put on the street to get in with the Pognatos. We knew each other because our recruiter thought it’d be safer to have someone on the other side, someone we could use to pass along messages if we needed to. He was very helpful getting me dirt on the Pognatos. Little bits at first, here and there you know, so you don’t draw attention to yourself. These families, they’re fucking hard to break for a reason. They’re built on secrets and suspicions. But Clint - sorry, Leon - had a secret of his own.” He picked up a photo between two fingers and slid it off the table. “He was helping me get the dirt on the Pognatos because he was working for the Bareses. Leon was dirty from the word ‘go’.”

 

Jane shook her head in denial. “No way. He was one of ours. Martinez wouldn’t have kept him for a second if he thought he was dirty.”

 

“Ask yourself why, if he was so pissed to see Verane leave, he didn’t fight harder to keep him. Maybe he didn’t have enough to pin on him here and figured New York would sort it out.” Brooks shrugged.

 

“No. I don’t believe it.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck what you believe.” His tone was sharp and caught her off-guard. “He was up to his neck here in Boston. Knee-deep in the Doyle family. With Paddy Doyle out of the picture, his successor decided it was a good time to try and merge with a New York crew. They rigged it so that Verane got recruited. He was dirty here and he was dirty there.”

 

The name ‘Doyle’ made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She crossed her arms and asked, “Where’s your proof?”

 

“The deposition’s my proof. He wouldn’t be doing time if nothing implicated him, too.”

 

“The deposition doesn’t list the witness by name.”

 

“Yet you had no problem believing it was me.”

 

The room was charged with tension. “How did you find out?”

 

“That he was dirty? I didn’t. It was Antonio Barese, old man Enzo’s grandson. Caught Verane doing some extra ‘work’ on the side. Work that involved bribing the outside contractor who destroys all the drugs confiscated by the state of New York. But instead of bringing that back into the Barese family, he was funnelling it into Boston. Once his fingers were caught in the cookie jar, he knew life was going to be short if he didn’t turn over everything he had on the Bareses. Good thing he had enough evidence to take down most of the family. Too bad for him, the contractor was an undercover Federal agent.”

 

“God, they’re everywhere.”

 

“And none of them can find their ass with a map and a flashlight,” he said. Tilting his head towards the note Crowe had written, he said, “You want to know where my money came from? They took those pictures after Verane made contact with the contractor. They were building their case, and as a side project, decided to try and figure out who I was. At the same time my recruiter gets into a serious accident that puts him in the hospital for 6 months, the Feds pick me up on an assault charge.” His lips twitched at the memory. “I was collecting a debt for Valente Pognato.”

 

“The head of the Pognato family.” When she saw his brief look of surprise, she said, “It was all over the news when the raid went down.” She weighed the name and what she knew of it. “You must have gotten pretty close.”

 

“I married his niece.” Her jaw dropped. “Anyway, the fucking Feds nab me, then try and get me to turn, not believing me when I tell them I’m already on the inside. Verane, of course, didn’t even know I was getting stitched up. None of the other recruits wanted to step forward and blow their cover.”

 

“Your boss in Philadelphia couldn’t vouch for you?”

 

“Heart attack 6 months after I left, the fat bastard.”

 

She started to smile in disbelief, but shook it off. “Sorry. It’s just a comedy of errors. Your Philly boss dies and your recruiter gets so seriously injured that he can’t vouch for you.”

 

“Yeah, it was pretty funny, a year in Riker’s was a fucking laugh riot. You know why it’s got a reputation for being one of the worst jails in the country? It’s well-earned. Had my back to the wall every minute because I didn’t know if someone was going to shank me from behind just because it was a Monday. Saw a guard beat a prisoner half to death because the guy didn’t come out of the cell when called. The guy was deaf. Didn’t matter.” He pointed to the 4-inch scar on his face. “And I didn’t have this before I went in. That and 2 months in the infirmary with a concussion is what you get when you step in between the guard and the deaf guy. The second I got out of the hospital, I started a riot in the cafeteria just to get thrown into solitary. It was 7 quiet months living with a bucket in the corner, but at least I was able to sleep.”

 

He clenched his jaw and bit the inside of his lip. “Anyway, it turned out for the best, at least for my cover, because I didn’t tell the Feds anything. When I got out, I was tighter with the family than ever before. And hey! After it all went down, shortly after Verane turned state’s against the Bareses, I filed a suit against the Bureau for unlawful confinement and not doing due diligence. I think they were worried I wouldn’t hand over everything I had on the Pognatos, so they quietly settled out of court. NYPD were more than happy to ship me off somewhere else. Which is how I ended up here. All I asked was not to be put back into Narcotics. After taking a year off to try and remember how to be Ash Brooks, I knew the Drug Unit was the last place I wanted to be."

 

The sound of metal scraping against concrete bounced off the walls as he stood and pushed his chair back. He looked at the file, and as if one last burst of anger shot through him, he cleared the table with a sweep of his forearm. His nostrils flared and with a deep breath, he looked up at Jane who had been standing silently against the wall.

 

"But please, feel free to believe a guy who I've met one time and is clearly an asshole. I get that you don't want to like me. That’s fine. You're not obligated to. But I am the fucking master at working with people who don't trust me, so that's going to be your problem, not mine. Now, if that's it, I've got work to do."

 

They stood like prize-fighters, a foot apart, eyeing each other with determination. The staredown lasted for a full minute before Jane shrugged and bent her head towards the door. It closed quietly behind him, and she released a long breath. She looked at the papers strewn across the floor and tried not to think just how much the mess represented her life.

 

.....

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

 

…..

 

Though the door was partially open, he politely knocked before leaning in.

 

"Dr. Isles?"

 

She looked up from her desk and frowned. "After last night, I thought it was understood you should call me 'Maura'?"

 

"Right. Maura." He stepped into the office. "I swung by and picked up the search warrant. I know we agreed to go to the Waltzes at lunch, but I thought if you were free now..."

 

There was something in his demeanour that made her pause, but when her silence garnered her no further information from him, she said, "I'm just finishing some paperwork I've been putting off. Can you give me 5 or 10 minutes?"

 

"Of course." He looked around uncertainly.

 

Pointing to a chair, she said, "Jane hates it, but you can give it your opinion, if you like."

 

He eyed the piece of furniture warily. "Is it meant to be sat on?"

 

Her mouth twitched as she fought the smile. "And I had such high hopes for our friendship." Returning her attention to the stack of papers, the office fell silent.

 

After a lazy peruse of his surroundings, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a short length of narrow rope. Though she continued her task at hand, she couldn't help but covertly glance up to watch what he was doing. With a casualness that belied his concentration, he seemed to be twisting the rope into a knot, then untying it again. What caught her by surprise was the intricacies of the knots. She was certain one had been a Rapala, yet he had done it as easily as if he were tying his shoes.

 

Rather than remark on his talent, she said, "When she's bored, Jane usually does the little twirly thing with a pen."

 

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. When she tried to demonstrate, only to have her pen go flying, he laughed, and a tension seemed to be released.

 

"You're good for her."

 

She deflected the compliment with a small shake of her head. "We're good for each other."

 

He said nothing in response, but if knowing and living with one of Boston's best detectives taught her anything, it was to not rush the suspect. When pressed with questions, most would, as Jane liked to say, 'clam up', but allowing them time, many would eventually reveal the story on their own.

 

Sure enough, though his gaze returned to hands that went back to work, he said, "Knots." He finished one, then held it up for her inspection.

 

"Farrimond Friction Hitch," she identified, much to his surprise. Her light shrug was paired with a smile. "I read. A lot."

 

He returned the smile. "My grandmother loved the water. Her father was a fisherman, and she was an only child. She would tell me stories of spending days on his boat, helping him reel in the nets." He held up a different knot.

 

"Ah," she said with an understanding nod. "She taught you."

 

"Not fishing. We never seemed to have the time. And where the hell do you fish in Philadelphia?" He undid the knot and began another. "But she taught me about knots. She had a philosophy about them. Every knot, like every moment in life, has a purpose. Some are easy and don't require much attention. Some bind things together so tightly, you might have to cut them to break them. And some need a lot of patience to undo." He scoffed in mid-twist and shoved the cord into his pocket. "Listen to me, Mr. Deep Thoughts."

 

She considered her words carefully. Though she was unsure of the reason for his demeanour, it didn't take a detective to piece together the evidence. "Jane can be especially... knotty," she said at last. The words came out and lit an amused light in his eye. "Oh!" she exclaimed, hearing the homophone. "That's not what I meant! I mean, she can... I didn't... not in this particular..." The heat rushed to her face and she covered her eyes.

 

"Are you sure there's no such thing as spontaneous combustion?" he asked with a grin.

 

"Yes. Thankfully." She took a deep breath and mock-scowled at his mirth. "What I meant to say was, she has her own knots to deal with, so to speak."

 

"She seems to create many of her own," he said, a slight edge returning to his voice. The quick turn in his tone startled her, but before she could think of anything to say, he asked, "Almost ready?"

 

His face was a blank slate and her facial profiling failed her. Not for the first time did she wish she had Jane's talent for picking up cues. With a sigh, she signed the remaining pages, tapped them neatly on the desk, and slid them into a folder. Capping her pen, she laid it down and stood.

 

"Ready," she said.

 

.....

 

"Jane Rizzoli!" the voice boomed from across the room. As he walked closer, Rafael Martinez grinned. "Did your hot doctor finally dump your ass to the curb? You coming back to Papa?"

 

Jane scrunched her face in disgust. "'Papa'? You had to go there?"

 

He laughed at her displeasure. “You know, you broke a lot of hearts pairing up with Dr. Isles.”

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to be on the market forever.”

 

“I was talking about Dr. Isles.”

 

His grin was large and infectious. She slapped his shoulder. “Bastard.”

 

Clearly pleased with himself, he asked, “What brings you over to this side of the building?”

 

The smile fell from her face. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

 

The question and the tone melted the banter away. “Sure, sure,” he said, directing her towards his small office. Closing the door behind him, he asked, “What’s going on?”

 

She got right to the point. “What do you know about Leon Verane?”

 

The question made his eyes flicker, but he quickly recovered. “What brings up that name?”

 

His evasiveness didn’t go unnoticed. “Was he dirty?” Though the door was closed, he looked around for witnesses. She wasn’t without sympathy; she understood the position she was putting him in. “Look,” she said, softly. “I know we don’t like to talk shit about our guys, but I really need to know. Just between you and me.”

 

Martinez leaned against his desk, seemingly contemplating his answer. Finally, without preamble, he replied, “We suspected.”

 

“Doyle.”

 

He nodded.

 

“So why did you send him to New York?”

 

Shrugging, he said, “Figured they could deal with it.”

 

His words echoed Brooks’, and she pressed her lips together tightly. “You know he’s doing time in Tennessee.”

 

“Yeah. Some cushy pen. Heard he turned state’s.” The look of surprise on her face brought the smile back to his. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I got friends, you know? I hear shit. Speaking of, I heard you got a new partner.”

 

“Yeah? And what do your friends say about him?”

 

“Not much. Undercover keeps their secrets, but his Philly friends have nothing but good things to say. What’s this about, Rizzoli?”

 

She crossed her arms and stared at her feet. “I’ve heard conflicting stories.”

 

He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Wait, wait. Let me guess - you heard something, threw it in his face, and when he threw it back, you started having second thoughts. Now you’re coming to Rafe to make sure all your little ducks are lined up before you see him again.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Ah, _belleza_ , your Italian hot-headedness is one reason we were so good together. But sometimes it doesn’t work so good outside of the bedroom.”

 

“And again, fuck you.” She reached for the door.

 

“Don’t go away mad,” he said. “Hey, you don’t know much about him because UC files are always full of bullshit. But the guys in Philly say he’s very thorough. You don’t think he knows everything about you?” She paused at his words. “And if he does, he knows you’re a damn good cop, Rizzoli. The best partner he’ll ever get. So you fucked up. Shit happens. Just don’t let it happen again.” He pushed himself away from the desk to hold the door open for her. “If it does, send him my way. We’ll show him how real police work is done.”

 

“And you were doing so well,” she glowered. “Asshole.”

 

His laughter followed her down the hall.

 

…..

 

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

 

Maura turned her attention from the passing scenery to the man on her left. "What do you mean?"

 

Brooks chuckled. "Letting me drive your car."

 

"I simply thought it would be better if we showed up in a car that would be more appropriate for our visit. Department-issued vehicles leave a lot to be desired.”

 

“Crown Vic versus a Mercedes? I’d say so.”

 

“Besides,” she continued, “you’re going to need to become familiar with the route from the station to Beacon Hill. I’m setting a place for you at Sunday dinner.”

 

His eyes widened. “Oh, are you now?” The motor hummed as he shifted into third. “That’s nice.”

 

“Do you mean the response of the V-12 engine, or my invitation?”

 

He smiled, and blue eyes briefly met hazel. “Both. You can be very persuasive.”

 

With a slight frown, she said, “I was going more for ‘charming’.” Their destination loomed ahead, and she couldn’t help but sigh. “I have coveted this house for years. Classic Georgian style. You see the quoins?” She pointed to the masonry blocks that decorated the corners of the house. “This house is close to 300 years old.”

 

The car quietly rolled into the oval drive, as if greeting the house with reverence. Brooks whistled lowly. “You’re right- the Mercedes was an appropriate choice.” He put the car into park and turned in his seat. “You said Mrs. Waltz sounded okay over the phone?”

 

Maura nodded. She had called ahead, both to see if a family member would be home, and to give the courtesy of not catching them by surprise. “I didn’t give her any specifics, though she’s quite aware it’s some kind of police matter. I believe her husband works from home, so we may run into both.”

 

“Okay. This should be very straight-forward, so long as neither of them fight it. The warrant is very clear - I’m only looking for the gun. But keep your eyes open for anything that might seem odd.”

 

Before she had a chance to ask what defined ‘odd’, he stepped out of the car and waited for her to follow suit. Walking side-by-side, she noted how his eyes took in everything with a slow sweep from left to right then back again. He tapped his breast pocket, then his gun, then flexed his hands.

 

“I’m hoping this will be a peaceful visit,” Maura said, half-joking.

 

He must have replayed his actions in his head because he offered a small grin. “Sorry. Just habit. When I used to knock on doors, it was never for a peaceful visit.” The entrance at the top of the steps hovered over them like a dark shroud. “This is all very ‘Downton Abbey’.”

 

“Actually, ‘Downton Abbey’ primarily used Victorian architecture,” Maura corrected.

 

“Huh. Well, can you tell me if I should use the doorbell, or this massive lion’s head banger thing?”

 

She didn’t bother hiding her smile. “I think the doorbell will do just fine.”

 

He did as he was instructed, and they waited quietly for a response that came almost immediately. The great door opened and they were greeted by a man in a well-pressed suit.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Detective Brooks,” he said, showing his badge. “Dr. Maura Isles. We called earlier and spoke with Mrs. Waltz.”

 

“Oh, yes,” the man said. “Please, come in. She’s been expecting you. If you’ll follow me…”

 

Brooks gestured for Maura to go ahead, and they all made their way down a wide hall. Maura’s heels clicked genteelly on the marble floor, followed by the soft staccato of Brooks’ steps. They approached a large drawing room and their guide announced their presence.

 

“Detective Brooks and Dr. Isles to see you.”

 

A woman in her early 40’s stood, her smile bright and welcoming. “Thank you, Robert,” she said. “Bring us some coffee.” He nodded and slipped away, and she returned her attention to the pair. “Maura, it’s so good to see you!” The two women lightly embraced. “How long has it been?”

 

“The fundraiser for the Women’s Clinic?” Maura ventured. “I believe that was back in April.”

 

“You’re right! Too long.” Extending her hand to Brooks, she said, “Excuse my manners. Susan Waltz.”

 

“Ash Brooks,” he said in return.

 

She gestured to some chairs. “Please, sit. Now what’s this all about?” she asked. “You didn’t say on the phone.”

 

Maura glanced at Brooks who picked up the signal. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Waltz, I’m here to issue a search warrant.”

 

“A what?”

 

“We’re looking for a gun,” Maura explained.

 

Susan looked between the two and slowly reached for the phone. “My husband is in his office upstairs. I hope you won’t mind if I call him down?”

 

“Not at all,” Brooks said. He watched as she made the call, then asked, “What does he do for a living?”

 

She placed the phone back in its cradle. “Attorney for the state.”

 

He groaned inwardly, but had little time to do much else before Robert came back with a tray. Seconds later, another man followed behind.

 

“Oh, Mr. Waltz,” Robert said. “I only brought enough for three. Would you like me to-”

 

Waltz waved away the offer. “Michael Waltz. What’s this about?”

 

Happy to get right to the point, Brooks stood and introduced himself, then handed over the warrant. “I need to take a look around.”

 

“What for?”

 

“It’s all covered in there. I’d like to check your son’s room first.”

 

“Anthony?” Susan asked. “What’s he done now?”

 

“Allegedly,” her husband corrected, scanning the warrant.

 

Maura glanced at Brooks who gave an imperceptible nod. "We're investigating an armed robbery that occurred in Roxbury three nights ago."

 

"And you think Anthony's involved?" Susan asked.

 

Michael scoffed. "Roxbury? Why in the world would he be down there? It's not exactly in line with his social standing, is it?"

 

"So the Roxbury Crew doesn't mean anything to you?" Brooks asked.

 

Waltz shook his head. "Not a thing. And I can assure you it means nothing to my son."

 

Susan's short laugh caught everyone's attention. With three sets of eyes on her, she looked at her husband. "We have no idea what anything means to him."

 

Tentatively, Maura said, "You don't seem surprised at the possibility."

 

"Nothing he does surprises me, I'm sorry to say. I don't know what we could have done differently. We gave him everything he could ever want or need." She looked at her husband again. "Perhaps we gave him too much." Rubbing a trembling hand across her forehead, she asked, "What exactly is the charge?"

 

Brooks took the responsibility from Maura. "Armed robbery with three counts of murder."

 

"Oh my God," Susan whispered.

 

"Can you show me where his bedroom is?"

 

She nodded dumbly and led the way. The old wood stairs creaked warmly under their feet, the only sound among the four of them. The mahogany railing was smooth under their touch as they passed portraits of previous generations along the way. When they reached the top of the landing, Susan turned right and continued down the hall until she stopped in front of a door. A simple nameplate hung from a chain. _Anthony_. She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

 

Pulling out a pair of latex gloves, Brooks directed the parents to stay there. "You can come in if you like," he said to Maura. Tilting his head at the state of the room, he said, "I could use a second set of eyes."

 

She poked her head inside. "Oh."

 

Though the room was large, it barely seemed to contain the overflow of magazines, games, clothing, and whatever else a 16-year old boy was interested in. The walls were covered with posters of bands and athletes and scantily clad women. The rest of the room was covered with everything else.

 

"Pretty standard for a teenage boy, I would think," Brooks assured.

 

She slowly put on gloves and gave the room a second assessment. "Wow."

 

"You don't have a problem with clutter, do you?" he asked with a slight glint in his eye.

 

"No," she said immediately. The itch quickly followed, but the gloves prevented her from scratching. Seeing his confusion, she explained. "Hives. Not being truthful causes hives."

 

His eyebrows rose. "So the clutter?"

 

"I may have a small problem," she admitted. "However, it won't prevent me from helping."

 

In the end, while her participation was welcomed, their quest was ultimately fruitless. With hands on hips, Brooks looked around and sighed.

 

"I'll have to call in a crew of uniforms," he said. "The house is too damn big for the two of us."

 

The phone was halfway to his ear when Susan stepped forward. "Wait." Navigating a path across the room, she yanked open the door and stepped inside the cavernous closet.

 

Mr. Waltz entered the room. "Susan, what are you doing?"

 

"Something we should have done a long time ago, Michael." She pulled back a small area rug. "We should have stopped this when he assaulted that poor man, instead of paying his way out of responsibility. How many times have we shown him that money buys everything?" She pried away a loose floorboard to reveal a small void underneath. A sob escaped her, but she was undeterred. Standing, she pointed to the floor. "Detective."

 

Brooks gently brushed past her to look at the hiding spot. He nodded at the discovery. Holding up a gun by the handle, he said, "Looks like a Glock 30 to me."

 

Enraged, Michael turned on his wife. "You helped them! You stupid-" He caught his words. "How could you? You're his mother."

 

"I did it precisely because I'm his mother. Michael, three people are dead. How could I live with myself knowing I let my son get away with murder?"

 

He shook his head. "This will never hold up in court. The discovery is outside the scope of the warrant."

 

"If I had dug up the floorboards, maybe," Brooks conceded. "But it was revealed freely by your wife." He pointed down for Maura’s attention. Swiping his phone screen, he aimed it at the floor. “Just for verification’s sake, what’s that in the hole?”

 

“A white cloth of some sort,” Maura stated.

 

The flash went on his phone. “Yep.”

 

Mr. Waltz was nearly apoplectic with rage. "Do you know what this will do to our name??"

 

“Shouldn't you be asking what this will do to our son?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Call a lawyer. I'll call the school."

 

As the woman began to leave the room, Maura said, "I'm so sorry, Susan."

 

The anguish was obvious. "So am I, Maura."

 

.....

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

A/N: While the whole story is meant to be a continuation of an earlier fic called “Bread and Butter”, this is the first chapter that references that story directly. Not necessary to read that one, though.

 

…..

 

“What the hell happened this morning?” Korsak asked.

 

The question greeted her as she returned to the bullpen. “I had a talk with Brooks,” Jane said, sitting at her desk. “Then I had a talk with Martinez. It’s all good.”

 

Korsak frowned. “You had a talk with Martinez?” he repeated. “How is that related to your case?”

 

“It’s not. It’s related to… something else. Don’t worry.” Before he had a chance to rebut, Jane held out a hand. Her gaze fixed on her monitor, she whispered, “What the hell?”

 

He craned his neck as if it would help him see her computer. “What is it?”

 

Sitting back, she pressed her fingertips against her eyes, then looked at the screen again. Her brows met in the middle. “I don’t… We got a hit on the vic’s DNA.”

 

“That lost kids’ database actually worked?”

 

“Lost Child Registry,” she absently corrected, her attention still on the monitor. Her lips moved silently as she tried to piece everything together.

 

“Don’t leave an old man hanging,” Korsak said. “What’d you find?”

 

Shaking her head, she replied, “You’re not going to believe this. The DNA matches Dylan Crossley.”

 

“Okay…” Korsak trailed off.

 

“He’s a missing kid. From Seattle. Went missing March 21st, 2001 when he was 2 years old.”

 

Korsak rubbed his forehead. “Okay, wait. We found a missing kid in a van we think belongs to a family who had a missing kid. But it's not the same kid."

 

"A family whose parents are currently in Seattle for a funeral," Jane added.

 

"What the hell is going on?"

 

"I've got to piece together a timeline for the Petruscos. See what happened after their son went missing. The Seattle connection can't be a coincidence."

 

"First thing you gotta do is contact Seattle PD. Check the file for the cop assigned to the case and find out if they're still around. The kid's parents have been waiting 15 years for a phone call."

 

Jane blew out a sigh. "I hate that."

 

"They've gone so long without knowing. It'll be hard at first, but at least they'll get some kind of closure now."

 

"Closure that only opens up a hundred questions."

 

"Where's your partner?"

 

The word still pricked her with its edges. "Issuing the search warrant to the Waltzes, the last I heard."

 

As if summoned by her words, Brooks showed up, a smile on his face and a drink in his hand.

 

"What the hell's that?" Korsak asked with a wrinkled nose.

 

"Some apple-kale thing," Brooks said, taking a seat. "Dr. Isles insisted I drink it."

 

Jane smirked. "She also insisted you call her 'Maura'."

 

Her attempt to engage in conversation must have caught him by surprise, because he did a double-take. Warily, he replied, “Yeah, but I’m more comfortable referring to her as ‘Dr. Isles’. As for the drink,” he said, taking a sip, “seems only fair after she let me drive the Mercedes.”

 

Jane’s voice almost rose to a squeak. “She let you drive the car?”

 

Shrugging and looking at the drink with a newfound appreciation, he said, “I think she considered it a peace offering. Indirectly. I can’t wait to drive it again.”

 

“You won’t have to,” Jane replied. “I mean, I guess you can drive it if she lets you, but…” she glanced over at Korsak who was doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t listening. “War is over. I… let’s just say Crowe’s going to get a basketball in the face on Saturday.” She took a deep breath, mentally putting one foot in front of the other. “I’m not gonna lie - I’ve got a ton of questions. But the important thing is, we’re all good.” She looked directly into hard blue eyes. “At least, I hope so.”

 

He stuck the straw into the corner of his mouth and drew a slow pull, never breaking the gaze. She was beginning to sweat a little when he said, “Can we pretend we’re on the outs every so often so I can drive the car?”

 

She exhaled loudly. “You bastard.” She glared at Korsak’s amused snort. “Besides, we probably won’t have to pretend. I can pretty much guarantee I’ll put my foot in it at some point.”

 

“Well, I wear a size 13, so I have a hard time not stepping into it from time to time, too,” he conceded. Wiggling the straw around, he sucked up the very last bits. “You know, this is pretty good.”

 

“Don’t tell her that,” Jane warned, “or she’ll be writing you up a daily meal plan that will never include your Philly beer ever again.”

 

“Philly beer?” Korsak piped up. “I thought you were from New York.”

 

“Didn’t you read the file?” Jane asked with a smirk, well aware she was using his earlier words against him.

 

“Ha, ha. Anyway, you came in with a smile. What’s up? And don’t tell me it was just because you got to drive the Mercedes.”

 

Brooks arced the cup into the nearby garbage. “Served the warrant to the Waltzes,” he said. “Found the gun. Or should I say, Mrs. Waltz found the gun for me?” He saw Jane tilt her head for more. “There was a hidey-hole in the closet. The room was a fucking disaster, and I thought I was going to have to call a crew in to search the rest of the house. I had the phone up to my ear when she uncovered the spot for us. Sure enough, there it was.”

 

“The mother ratted out her son?” Korsak asked.

 

Brooks shrugged. “She definitely wasn’t shielding him, that’s for sure. Whether or not she wanted him to get caught, I don’t know.”

 

Shaking his head, Korsak whistled, “That’s cold.”

 

“Tough love,” Jane said. “Wait. The room was a disaster? And Maura helped you?”

 

“It was the room of a 16-year old boy,” Brooks smirked. “She was a real trooper, I’ll give her that.”

 

“Did you get pictures?”

 

He laughed. “No. Since she was nice enough to volunteer, I didn’t have the heart to make a big deal out of it.”

 

“Next time, you get pictures.”

 

He gave her a mock salute. “Anyway, I sent an officer to the school to pick up Anthony Waltz and his gang of merry men. We’ve got the gun in evidence, and I got a photo on my phone of the white bandanna that went along with it.”

 

“You didn’t want to arrest him?” Jane asked.

 

“Thought my shit-eating grin would be inappropriate,” he replied. “Besides, I have to remind myself that three people are dead, and this kid’s thrown his life away.”

 

“Speaking of kids,” she began, “I got a hit on that Lost Child Registry. So thanks. I think.” He raised an eyebrow. “The John Doe in the van is a Seattle kid named Dylan Crossley who went missing 15 years ago.”

 

“Okaaay… this is fucked up,” he said. “A missing kid from across the country ends up in a van in Boston?”

 

“Owned by a family who has their own missing kid,” Korsak reminded him.

 

Brooks pressed fingertips against his temples. “I’m confused. I mean, I get it. But 2 missing kids connected by 1 family? That can’t be a coincidence. So what’s the next step?”

 

She was about to answer when her phone buzzed on her hip. With a quick glance down, she said, “Mikail Petrusco said his parents were in Seattle for a funeral. See if they’ve ever been to Seattle before; what did they do between Marion and Boston? Maura’s got something for me.”

 

“It’s probably one of those green drinks,” Korsak joked.

 

Jane stood and paused mid-stretch at his words. “Ha, ha.”

 

Logging into his computer, Brooks said, “Bring it up here. I’ll drink it for you.”

 

She clasped her hands together in gratitude. “Thank you!”

 

“Hey, it’s what partners do, right?”

 

She knew he was testing her, but she welcomed the honesty. “I owe you one.” He dipped his head at the acknowledgment before she headed towards the elevator.

 

…..

 

“You let him drive the Mercedes?”

 

Maura looked up from her computer. “Hello to you, too.”

 

Jane closed the office door behind her and wagged her finger. “Don’t try to change the subject.” Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Don’t tell me you let him get past 3rd gear.”

 

Momentarily puzzled, Maura frowned, then realized the meaning behind the words. “Oh, I see. This is a car equivalent to the ‘Get past first base’ idiom, isn’t it? The answer is ‘no’. While I admired the way he handled the stick, I made sure he was well aware of the yield signs. How did I do?”

 

Jane tilted her head back and forth. “Eh, not bad. Next time put something in there about hugging the curves, and it’ll be perfect.”

 

Maura stood and met Jane halfway. Hooking her index fingers in the waist of Jane’s pants, Maura said, “My mechanic is in an awfully good mood today.”

 

She swayed her body into Maura’s. “Maybe I can see what’s under your hood later?”

 

A laugh escaped Maura’s lips. “So what changed? Your partner was a dark cloud until he drove the Mercedes.”

 

“And you think that was my fault?” She didn’t wait for the reply. “Okay, it was my fault. But it’s fine now." She wasn't offended when she saw the skepticism in Maura's face."Really. And as much as Brooks will hate me for saying this, you don’t have to fix my screwups. I mean, I love that you want to make everything better, but I’m an adult. I need to act like one. That starts with me dealing with things head on. Just…can you let him drive the car every once in a while until I get used to this ‘being an adult’ thing?”

 

“Only if you let me bring home a set of overalls from the processing garage.” Jane was just about to move in for a kiss when Maura pulled back. “Oh! That’s why I called you down here.”

 

Groaning at the missed opportunity, Jane said, “To talk me into role-playing?”

 

“No, to talk about what the automotive technicians found.” She turned to her desk to retrieve a folder. “Fingerprinting is done last. Beyond the ones on the set of keys, there wasn’t a lot to be found on the van, not because there weren’t any, but because so few of them were clear. Whoever uses the van works in a field that uses a lot of grease or grime. The majority of the prints were smeared.” She handed the folder to Jane. “But they did find one very good print underneath the door handle. I counted 12 clearer points of identification than the one on the keys. I’ve already sent it to Frankie.”

 

“Mikail Petrusco told us he was going to UTI for Automotive Technology. Might account for the messy prints. Speaking of messy… I heard you had an interesting morning.” Maura blinked her confusion. “The Waltzes? The teenage bedroom?”

 

Maura wrinkled her nose. “It was rather… cluttered.”

 

“I heard!” Jane crowed.

 

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

 

“The Ziegler case? Where we had to literally climb over her hoard to get to her body? Hell, no, I’m not going to let you live that down. Besides, it’s the case where you fell for me. Literally. On top of me.”

 

“I recall you pulled me down,” Maura replied.

 

“Pulled you…how can you tell such a blatant lie without breaking into hives?” The sentence wasn’t out of her mouth when Maura reached up to scratch. “Ah-ha! I knew it!”

 

“I may be mis-remembering.”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. I told Brooks not to mis-remember taking a photo next time, so you’ve been warned.”

 

“I suppose partner conspiracy is a small price to pay if it means you two are getting along.”

 

Jane shrugged. “Don’t take the Mercedes from him just yet. You know me.”

 

“Yes,” Maura agreed. “I wonder if it wouldn’t just be better if I gave him his own key?”

 

Jane’s mouth dropped open melodramatically. “Maura!” She conceded the jibe with a shrug and a grin. “That was pretty good.”

 

“Dr. Isles- oh, sorry,” Susie said from the door.

 

“S’up-”

 

Maura pressed her finger over Jane’s lips. “What is it, Susie?”

 

“I just wanted to let you know the body’s ready.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll be out shortly.”

 

“I’ll tell Brooks to come down for the results,” Jane called after Susie.

 

Maura frowned. “It’s not his case.”

 

“I know,” Jane said, “but it would make her day, wouldn’t it?”

 

“She’d be pleased to know you’re thinking of her. Now, what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”

 

She sighed. “The unidentified victim in the van is now identified, so I have to call Seattle and tell them the news.”

 

“Seattle? I’m confused.”

 

“Long story, which I would love to share with you over lunch if you have time later.”

 

Nodding, Maura enthusiastically accepted. “I’ve got to do an autopsy on a floater and I’m always hungry afterwards.”

 

“Gross,” Jane said. “Don’t say another word or I won’t be.” She bent slightly and left a small bite on Maura’s lips. “Text me when you’re done.”

 

“I wish I was done now.”

 

She extracted herself from Maura’s arms and laughed. “I don’t know about you, lady, but I got work to do.” Turning at the door, she winked. “Later.”

 

…..

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

….

  
  


"What are the odds I can get two hits from the LCR in one day?"

 

Brooks acknowledged Jane entering the bullpen, a file held up in her hand. "When you figure that one out, maybe you can tell me the odds of the Petruscos being in Seattle the same time Dylan Crossley was kidnapped."

 

"Mine was rhetorical," she said, sitting at her desk. "Tell me yours isn't."

 

“It isn’t,” he parroted. "The Petruscos left Massachusetts 6 months after their son's body was recovered. I imagine sticking around was pretty hard with all those memories."

 

"Don't discount the press. They're quick to turn on the family if there's even a whiff of suspicion. And they love to play the Blame Game."

 

He nodded. "'You should've done more, how could you let this happen' kind of thing."

 

"Exactly. "

 

"Well, whatever the reason, they moved to Seattle in September of 2000 and came back less than 2 years later."

 

"That was a short stay," Jane said.

 

"Looks like they might have been staying with her family. I tracked down the deceased grandmother through the Seattle obits; it's her mother. The current address is the same one the Petruscos used back in 2000."

 

Jane picked up a pencil and began to lazily bounce the eraser off the desk. "So they live here, lose a son here, move to Seattle, turn around and come right back?"

 

"Seems like it."

 

"And Dylan Crossley..."

 

He pursed his lips, waiting for her to say what they were both thinking.

 

"You know what this sounds like, right?"

 

"Yep."

 

"They lost a son, went to Seattle, and brought one back to Boston."

 

The words settled between them. "Do you think it was intentional?" he asked.

 

"That they purposely went to Seattle to kidnap a kid?" She shook her head. "I don't want to believe it. No. Why go to all that trouble?"

 

"Well, Seattle is on the other side of the country. Maybe they thought there'd be less chance of getting caught."

 

"How did no one notice they came back with two kids?"

 

He tapped his notes. "I was looking for a picture of the brother Mikael claimed to not have. Figured I could dig up a school photo. Kids were home schooled. They didn't change Dylan's name, by the way."

 

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."

 

"Nope. When you homeschool, you still have to register your kid in the system. The state sends someone around on an annual basis to make sure there's actual teaching and lessons. Their records have him listed as 'Dylan Petrusco'."

 

“And no one found that odd? I mean, they were all over the news.”

 

“Dylan was what- 2?” He shrugged. “Maybe people lost track of how long they were gone, thought they were gone longer. Good idea or not, it’s not uncommon for a couple to want to have another child after a tragedy like that.”

 

“Yeah, except they didn’t have another child the old fashioned way. They took him.” She rested her elbows on the desk and held her chin in her palms. “I’m trying to see it from their point of view, I really am, but… they never once thought what they did was wrong? They never thought about Dylan Crossley’s parents? They put his family through the exact same thing they went through!”

 

“Worse in a way,” Brooks said. “At least the Petruscos got some kind of closure when their son was found. The Crossleys have been waiting 15 years to find out what happened.”

 

“Shit!” Jane said. “I’ve got to find the detective who was assigned to the case.”

 

Brooks slid a piece of paper across his desk to hers. “Korsak had me dig it up for you. Detective Goran Vig.”

 

Jane’s brow creased. “What kind of name is that?”

 

“Should probably ask Dr. Isles. She seems to have a knack with names.”

 

“She has a knack with everything,” Jane smirked. “Ashinghurst.”

 

“So we’re back to that, huh?” His smile betrayed him. “What do you need me to do in the meantime, Orange?”

 

As she began dialling, she lightly tossed the file Maura had given her towards Brooks. “That’s the fingerprint they found on the van. I’ll bet your suit the print belongs to Mikail Petrusco. See if you can find out if it does.”

 

“This suit cost more than what you make in a month,” he protested. “Gamble away your own clothes!”

 

She smiled across the desk, and her shoulders felt lighter for the first time in ages.

 

…..

 

The time difference found Jane catching the detective just as he started his shift. The man, now in his late 50s but with a cigarette habit that made him sound closer to 70 was first surprised, then skeptical, then astounded.

 

“Ya know, it was my last case in Homicide,” he told her.

 

Jane quickly did the math. “You were only in your 40s when you retired?”

 

“Retired?” he repeated with a laugh. “Hell, no. Just moved my ass to Cold Cases. I couldn’t bear watching parents go through the real-time pain anymore. The Crossley case, that finished me. You’re sure it’s him?”

 

“So says his DNA,” Jane said, explaining the hit on the LCR. “What do you remember about the case?”

 

She could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Nothing out of the ordinary from a cop's point of view. Mother was out shopping, the kid in the seat of the shopping cart. In her statement, she said she forgot something two aisles over. Instead of pushing a full cart, she thought she'd just pop over and grab it. Said it took her no more than 30 seconds. The kid was gone when she came back."

 

"What did the video say?"

 

"Shit," he replied, "if only there was video. Place didn't have cameras, just a bunch of those fake globes in the ceiling."

 

"You're kidding."

 

"Nope. Parents slapped a lawsuit on the company that was settled out of court."

 

Jane sighed. "Didn't help bring their son home."

 

"Nope."

 

"Did you have any suspects?"

 

She could almost see his shrug. "There were some eyewitnesses, but none of them seemed to tell the same story: it was a young woman who swooped him up, it was a man and a woman with one keeping a lookout. Someone even said they saw the boy toddle away. Like an 18 month old is gonna climb out of the cart and disappear into the night."

 

"Did the name 'Petrusco' ever come up in your investigation?"

 

"'Petrusco', huh?" He rolled the name around in a whisper, but finally said, "Doesn't ring a bell, and let me tell you, regardless of what the family might think, I didn't leave a single stone unturned."

 

"You took the brunt of their grief." Jane was only all too familiar with the experience. They were often the target for the parents anger and guilt.

 

"I understood. But I tell ya, it's gonna be one hell of a phone call. I take it you think these Petruscos had something to do with his disappearance?"

 

"Yeah. But for now, let's just focus on the fact he's been found. I just wish it had a better ending." She pressed her finger and thumb to her eyelids. "We can either arrange for them to come and identify the body, or we can figure out a way to get him to Seattle."

 

"Okay. You know this is gonna be a jurisdictional nightmare, right? Kid goes missing from Seattle but his kidnappers are found in Boston?"

 

She took a deep breath through her nose and slowly exhaled. "At this point, I'm just trying to focus on the family."

 

"I hear ya," he replied. "Listen, if it means anything, a lot of people are finally going to be able to sleep tonight. Me, included."

 

"Let me know what the family decides, and please let them know they can call me, any time day or night." They said their goodbyes, and with a flick of her wrist, Jane tossed her phone onto her desk.

 

"Tough call?"

 

She nearly jumped out of her chair. "Jesus!" she exclaimed. "I forgot you were here."

 

Brooks offered an apologetic smile. "I forgot to turn off my stealth mode."

 

She shook her head, both in response to his comment, and to shake off the phone call. "It'll be tougher for Vig."

 

"It's the call the parents have been wanting and dreading for 15 years."

 

"Yep." Nudging her chin towards his computer, she asked, "Any luck with the fingerprint?"

 

"No," he answered, "and that surprises me. You'd think after everything that happened to Andrei, they'd be overly protective of Mikael. I expected DNA and fingerprints and blood samples and pictures from 20 different angles. Not a thing."

 

She gave this some thought. "Maybe it went beyond homeschooling. Maybe they never let the kids out of their sight."

 

Brooks hummed. "Makes sense. Especially when one of those kids wasn't theirs. Less chance of people asking questions."

 

"You see how Mikael avoided ours." She pushed back from her desk. "You up for a visit?"

 

"Sure," he said. "This'll run while we're gone." Standing, he slipped his jacket over his shoulders. "What do you have in mind?"

 

"Today's Wednesday. Mikael said his parents would be back on Friday. I want to have another talk with him before then."

 

"Lead the way."

 

.....

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

…..

  
  


"Those guys on CSI drive Escalades. I don't see why we can't be given something better than a Crown Vic," Brooks grumbled.

 

A chuckle escaped her lips. "Might have something  to do with CSI being a TV show. They get DNA results in 47 minutes, too."  He grunted his displeasure. “She’s already spoiled you with the Mercedes,” Jane said.

 

He didn’t bother to argue. “So what’s your plan when we get there?”

 

“Tell him what we know,” she said, “and bend the truth about what we don’t. We’ve got the parents dead to rights on the kidnapping, even if we don’t have physical evidence.”

 

“I’d think Dylan Crossley’s body is physical evidence enough.”

 

“You know what I mean.” He nodded, and she continued. “We can tell the story up to the family moving to Boston. I’m hoping he’ll fill in the rest.”

 

“And the fingerprint?”

 

She shrugged. “He doesn’t have to know we haven’t I.D’ed it.”

 

“Okay, but I have a question - has there really been a crime here? I mean, beyond the kidnapping 15 years ago. Finding Dylan’s body in the van, Dr. Isles signed off on that as a suicide, right? Mikael, for whatever reason, was driving around with the body in the back, but he didn’t break the law, did he?”

 

Jane unclipped her phone from her belt, and after a quick glance down and a switch to speaker phone, it came to life. Two rings was all it took before a familiar voice answered.

 

“Dr. Isles.”

 

“Why do you answer it that way when I know you have a picture of me as your call display?”

 

“Jane?”

 

“Of course it’s ‘Jane’,” she said. “What are you doing?”

 

“Waiting for you to text me about lunch. Do you have me on speaker phone?”

 

“Shit, I forgot about lunch!” she whined. “And yeah, you’re on speaker phone. Brooks is in the car, so careful what you say.”

 

“Hello, Ash.”

 

“Hello, Maura.”

 

“Okay, okay, small talk is over. What do you know about transporting a body?”

 

“What do you mean?” Maura asked. “What have you two done now?”

 

Jane cut off Brooks snicker with a glare. “Ha, ha. Mikael Petrusco had Dylan Crossley’s body in the van. Was he breaking the law?”

 

“Technically, yes. While the commonwealth of Massachusetts does allow someone to move a body after death, that can only be done once a death certificate has been issued. You then need a Removal Permit to transport the body.”

 

“Are we sure Dylan was dead before he was in the van?” Brooks asked.

 

“He _did_ die of asphyxiation, and the evidence confirms it was from a sisal rope knotted around his neck. If it was done in the van, we would have seen signs of struggle, most likely claw marks on his throat as he tried to loosen the rope. We did find some bruising on the body, but they seem to be consistent with falling, not something that would occur from thrashing.”

 

Jane turned to Brooks. “Or ‘Yes, he was dead before he was in the van.’”

 

“Your imitation sounded nothing like me.”

 

Ignoring Maura’s pout, Jane said, “We’re on our way to see Mikael Petrusco now.”

 

There was a pause before Maura said, “Wait. Who’s Mikael Petrusco? Who’s Dylan Crossley for that matter? You identified the victim?”

 

“Right. I meant to tell you the whole story over lunch. Oops.”

 

“Not sure lunch would cover it,” Brooks said.

 

“We’re almost there, Maura. Gotta go.”

 

“Okay. Please be careful, the both of you.”

 

“I’ll see you when we get back.” The phone clicked and the connection was gone.

 

“Mmmm,” Brooks said, his voice laced with feigned disappointment. “No terms of endearment?”

 

“None that you’ll ever hear,” Jane retorted. This drew a smirk from him, and even Jane had to smile. “Whatever. We’re here.”

 

He became serious once more, his face hardening into a stern mask, his eyes turning sharp. “Whatever you need, let me know.”

 

“Keep that face,” she said. “Everybody expects the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine, but you’d be surprised how many times it works.”

 

“I can’t wait to see your Bad Cop.”

 

They made a formidable image, walking side by side up the walk to the door. Nothing had changed over the course of the last 24 hours, except the knowledge that this time their visit carried much more weight. As she did the first time they were there, she pushed the doorbell and waited. Several seconds passed until the lock turned and the door cracked open. Mikael blinked at his visitors.

 

“Officers?”

 

“Detectives,” Jane corrected. “How are you today, Mikael?”

 

“I’m fine,” he answered with some caution. “What do you…what can I do for you?”

 

Jane glanced over to Brooks who took the cue. With an edge of menace to his voice, he said, “We know about Dylan, Mikael. So unless you want us to have this conversation out here for the neighbourhood to see, I suggest you open the door.”

 

“You can’t just…” he stammered.

 

Brooks made a move to reach for his gun. “Listen, you little shit-”

 

Holding out her arm to stop her partner, she looked at Mikael. “It’s okay. We just want to talk. That’s all. I promise.”

 

Her words seemed to soothe him, and after a slight hesitation, he slid the lock chain free. He pulled the door open and stepped to the side, warily eyeing Brooks. The detectives entered, and while Jane waited for Mikael to close the door, Brooks made his way to the photo he had seen on their first visit. He tapped the glass.

 

“Is that Dylan?”

 

Mikael froze in the doorway.

 

“Why don’t we sit?” Jane suggested. She took a seat at the end of the couch and silently signalled for Brooks to do the same.

 

Mikael was the last to sit, the chair opposite the couch seeming to swallow him whole. His knee bounced nervously, his hands gripping each other, as if holding on for dear life. “I don’t know what this is about.”

 

“I think you do,” Jane said softly, her voice a deliberate contrast to her partner’s hard edge.

 

“I…”

 

Jane leaned forward, her hands hanging lazily between her knees. She was a study in calmness. “Why don’t I start, and maybe you can fill in the parts I’m missing, how does that sound?” When he nodded, she began. “You grew up calling Dylan your brother, but he wasn’t really, was he?” He bit his lip. “Your real brother, Andrei, went missing when you were what...4? That must have been incredibly hard.”

 

Mikael’s eyes cast downward. “He wasn’t my brother. Andrei. He was my half-brother. My real mom died when I was born.”

 

Jane pressed her lips together in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Do you remember Andrei?”

 

“Not really. I mean, I guess I played with him a lot. I don’t know. I don’t really remember.”

 

“Do you remember him going missing?”

 

He hugged himself tightly, and stared blankly at nothing. “I only remember things were bad. My mom...Ruth wouldn’t stop crying. All day. Just this…wailing. I would run into my room and hide under the bed with my hands over my ears. She never stopped.”

 

“After he was found, you moved to Seattle,” Jane continued the narrative. “Did you stay with your grandmother?”

 

“Ruth’s mom, yeah. It didn’t make anything better.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I could hear her…blaming Ruth for what happened. ‘If you didn’t leave him, this would never have happened?’ and ‘What kind of mother lets her son be taken?’ That kind of thing.”

 

“Where was your father?” Brooks asked.

 

Mikael looked at him as if suddenly realizing he was in the room. “He drove lumber out of state. Sometimes he was gone for weeks.”

 

Jane glanced at her hands and weighed her words. “Tell me about Dylan.”

 

He sat back and drew his legs to his chest. “We were shopping,” he began. “Ruth left me in the car. I don’t think she cared if I got stolen or not.” He laughed without humour. “When she came back, she had two bags of groceries and this boy. At first I thought it was Andrei, but when I got a closer look, I knew it wasn’t.”

 

Brooks nodded. “She took him from the grocery store.”

 

“I know. I mean, I didn’t know then. I was barely 5. But I knew later.”

 

“What about your grandmother?” Jane asked. “What about your dad?”

 

It was as if starting the conversation opened the floodgates, and the story began to unfold. “We lived in the basement. It had a separate entrance. Ruth snuck him down there and she never knew. Her mom, I mean. Dad was gone for…8 or 9 days? I don’t really remember exactly, but by the time he came back, it was too late. I don’t know. It’s like he decided this is what it took to fix her.”

 

“So that was okay?” Brooks asked, the hardness coming back to his voice. “He didn’t think anything of it?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t…”

 

“You were 5, how could you know?” Jane asked, and Brooks took the hint. “We know you moved to Boston pretty soon after that. You were homeschooled, which helped Ruth hide Dylan’s real identity, didn’t it?” Mikael bit his lip again. “Do you remember Kate Malini?”

 

For the first time, his face lit up and he smiled. “She lived next door. Or…she visited her dad? Right. She visited. She was always sneaking candy to us over the fence. Me and Dylan would drag the doghouse over and climb on it to see her. How do you know Kate?”

 

“Her dad sold your family his white van, didn’t he?”

 

The smile faded from his face. “Yeah.”

 

“Here’s where I really need your help, Mikael.” She waited until she had his full attention. “We found Dylan’s body in the van. We know he hanged himself and we’ve got a fingerprint that’s going to belong to you, isn’t it? But what we don’t have is an explanation. What happened that night, Mikael?”

 

He rested his head on his knees, and just when Jane started to believe he wasn’t going to say another word, he began to unveil the story. “It was the TV.” He looked at it, as if it personally offended him. “Some stupid show about unsolved disappearances. The anniversary of them. You know, like the 80th anniversary of the Lindbergh kidnapping or whatever. But it wasn’t famous things like that. It was just regular kids. I didn’t even know that it was the 15th anniversary of Dylan’s disappearance.”

 

“He never knew.” It was more of a statement than a question from Brooks.

 

“No. If you were kidnapped when you were 2, would you?” He didn’t wait for Brooks to answer. “I came downstairs and he was just sitting there, frozen in front of the TV. It was near the end of the show, but I saw enough to know what he saw. He went nuts.” Mikael shook his head, lost in the memory. “Things started coming back to him, I guess. Memories. He said we were all liars. He told me he wished he was dead. I said some pretty horrible things back. Why did I say those things?”

 

Jane reached over and touched his leg. “You were hurting.”

 

Her touch seemed to bring him back to the present. “I was worried the neighbours would complain about the yelling, so I ended up leaving. When I came back…” His eyes went to the top of the stairs, and for the first time, Jane and Brooks noticed the exposed ceiling. “I… I cut him down.”

 

“The bruising,” Brooks said to Jane.

 

“I… I couldn’t hold him and cut the rope.”

 

“What were you going to do with him once you put him in the van?” she asked gently.

 

“I was going to take him to the hospital. But then I realized it was too late. I guess I panicked.”

 

Brooks frowned. “How did you end up outside the convenience store?”

 

“I was just driving in circles,” Mikael explained. “It was like a horrible nightmare. I saw the store and thought maybe I’d drink myself into oblivion and wake up in the morning and it would be different. Then I heard the gunshots.”

 

“There was a robbery,” Jane said. “Three people were killed.”

 

“I looked through the window and saw it all. I just…I just ran. By the time I came back, everything was taped off and I didn’t know what to do.” As if the severity of things finally hit him, he broke down into tears.

 

Continuing to rub his leg, Jane asked, “Is there anyone you can call?”

 

“No,” he sobbed into his knees.

 

“No one? A friend? A school mate?”

 

“You do most of your social life on the internet, Mikael?” Brooks asked with some sympathy. The young man nodded. “So why don’t you get online and forget about this for a while?”

 

“My parents are back on Friday. What am I going to tell them?”

 

“Let’s not think about that right now,” Jane said. “We’re going to need you to come down to the station tomorrow and make an official statement, okay? We’ve got some great people you can talk to while you’re there, and when your parents get back, we’ll talk to them. How does that sound?”

 

“They’re going to kill me. Ruth is going to kill me. Oh, God, what have I done?”

 

“Hey,” Brooks said sternly. “You didn’t do anything, got it? It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

 

“I wish I could believe you.”

 

“If you’re not going to believe him, then will you believe me? This will all work out, I promise,” Jane vowed. “Just tell me you’ll come down to the station tomorrow.”

 

He wiped his eyes with the ends of his T-shirt and nodded. “I know what I have to do.”

 

“Okay,” she smiled. “Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?”

 

He stood and sniffled. “No. Your partner was right. I’m more of an internet guy.”

 

“Okay, but if you need anything, _anything_ , I want you to call me.” Reaching into her pocket, she handed him her card. “Any time.”

 

They walked to the door in silence, the truth weighing heavily between them. Jane turned to speak, but knew there was nothing more to say. It was Brooks who finally said, “I’m not going to tell you I know what you’re going through, but I will tell you it’ll be all over soon.”

 

Mikael nodded and softly agreed. “Yeah. I know.”

 

The door locked behind them and the partners made their way back to the car. The air was crisp and cool, and Jane took in a deep breath. Nothing and yet everything had changed. She took one last look at the house before getting into the car. Brooks slid into his seat and loosened his tie.

 

“Two very different mothers I dealt with this week,” he remarked.

 

Jane put the key in the ignition. “How so?”

 

He lightly shrugged. “One couldn’t hold on to her son anymore, and one never wanted to let go.” She murmured at his comparison. “You ever want to be a mom?”

 

She blinked in surprise. It was the first personal thing she could remember him asking her. It was a simple question, full of complicated answers.

 

She was clearly struggling to reply, and he quickly said, “Sorry. None of my business.”

 

She shook her head, not to admonish him for the question, but to wave away his apology. She knew it was always going to come down to trust, just as she knew she would have to take the first step. An image of Maura drifted across her mind, and she found comfort in it. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a long complicated story that needs to be told over a few beers.”

 

He nodded and offered a smile. “Okay. So what’s next?”

 

Her fingers touched the keys, but she made no motion to start the car. She looked at the house again.

 

Seeing the shift in her demeanour, he asked, “What is it?”

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something’s not right. Something’s off.”

 

He looked over his shoulder towards the house, but it gave no clues. “Like what?” He narrowed his gaze as if it would make things clearer.

 

She repeated Mikael’s words.“‘I know what I have to do’. That was a weird thing to say, wasn’t it?”

 

His eyes darted back and forth, but he wasn’t looking at the house. Instead, he was drawing on collage of images. “There was sisal rope on the table in the kitchen.”

 

“Shit!”

 

The car doors were thrown open as they ran for the house, Jane’s long legs barely keeping up with Brooks’ burst of speed. Without hesitation, he shouldered the door like a linebacker and nearly fell in when it cracked off the hinges. She braced herself with a hand on his back, and helped him from his knee. They both stopped cold when they saw the image at the top of the stairs. Canvas shoes hovered an inch above the third step from the second floor as Mikael’s body swayed back and forth.

 

“No! Nonononono!” Brooks shouted. In an instant, he was on the stairs, wrapping his arms around Mikael’s legs and lifting him up to give the rope some slack. Jane was immediately on the landing, pocket knife in hand, working furiously at the cheap braid. It only took seconds for the blade to break through. Brooks staggered as the boy’s full weight fell over his shoulder, and Jane reached out to steady him. Carefully, he laid Mikael down and began loosening the rope that was around his throat while Jane grabbed for her phone.

 

“Don’t do this, kid,” Brooks whispered, checking for vital signs.

 

“I need an ambulance at 37 Upham Avenue. Twenty-year old male. Attempted suicide.” She looked at Brooks, eyes pleading for an answer.

 

He placed his ear over Mikael’s mouth and pressed two fingers against his neck. “Barely.”

 

“Yes, he’s still breathing,” she said into the phone. “I don’t know. Two minutes, maybe three? Just get someone here!” She slid to the floor, her phone falling to one side. Brooks sat back, his forearms on his knees and his head between his legs. “It’s the adrenaline,” she told him. “It’ll wear off. Just give it time.” He didn’t say a word, and for the first time, she thought she saw a hint of vulnerability. She looked at Mikael, whose chest was faintly rising and falling. “It’s been a hell of a first week, huh? It won’t always be like this - some weeks will be worse.” He choked out a one-note mirthless laugh. “But you did good work.”

 

He raised his head and met her eyes. Words passed between them without speaking, and a simple nod was his reply. In the distance, the sound of sirens grew louder and louder.

 

…..


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: The scene with Jane in the morgue with Maura is a bit of a mirrored image from the last scene in “Bread and Butter”.

 

This is the final chapter; a short one to give it some closure. I hope you’ve enjoyed it!

 

…..

  
  


Korsak had a quip on the tip of his tongue that quickly died when he saw Jane and Brooks walk into the bullpen.

 

"What happened?"

 

Jane slumped in her chair and Brooks followed suit. "Mikael Petrusco tried to kill himself."

 

"You're kidding? What am I saying? Of course you're not kidding. Everything okay?"

 

"Yeah," she replied. "He's at Boston Gen. They're going to keep him overnight as a precaution. They've contacted the parents."

 

"You didn't say anything about Dylan?"

 

She shook her head. "Didn't want to give them the heads up. Besides, they need to focus on the son they do have."

 

Korsak couldn't find fault in her words. "You know this is gonna be a nightmare between us, Seattle, and the Feds.”

 

“The Feds?” Brooks repeated.

 

Korsak nodded. “A kidnapping that crosses state lines is a federal offence. The suits are gonna be all over this.”

 

“Let them have it.” Her words surprised Korsak, and she shrugged. “I don’t know what kind of justice we can give the Crossleys. The Feds can be the bad guys. Once we get an official statement from Mikael, they can do whatever it is they’re going to do.”

 

Knowing the Feds would do what they wanted to do anyway, Korsak could only agree. “Was he at least able to fill in the story?"

 

"Oh yeah," she answered. "Everything from Dylan Crossley's kidnapping to ‘Dylan Petrusco's’ suicide. And he was outside the convenience store during the robbery. So if there’s a silver lining in all this, I guess it’s two for one."

 

"I still don't believe it," Brooks said. "Fucking insanity."

 

Korsak watched as the two struggled to deal with what had transpired. Their faces were tired, their eyes dull and aimless. "When Cavanaugh catches wind of this, he's going to tell you two to get lost for the rest of the day. So why don't you two get lost for the rest of the day?"

 

"I've got to do a follow-up on the Waltz arrest," Brooks said.

 

"I got it," Korsak replied. "I mean it. Go."

 

"He won't tell us again," Jane said, looking across her desk. "Besides, if I don't grab something to eat that has something green, my personal nutritionist will lose it. You want to come down with me? She'll be happy to see you."

 

With a deep breath and exhale, Brooks lifted his gaze to her. "You just want me there to eat all the green things." This got a small smile. "No. I appreciate the invite, but I'm going to shove off. Maybe I'll check out the department gym."

 

She understood his reaction - before Maura, she would have done the same thing. "Okay. But she'll expect you to come by later tonight." She knew how it sounded, injecting Maura's name in her place. Clearing her throat with a small cough, she amended her statement. "I expect you to come by."

 

For some, that might have seemed like a throwaway invitation, but she knew Brooks saw it for what it was. "Okay," he agreed.

 

"Good. We've got a 240 channel sports package. I'm sure we can find the Phillies game. And, you know, we've got that basketball game on Saturday. We should talk strategy."

 

"If by 'strategy' you mean 'who gets to smash Detective Crowe in the nads with the ball', there's not much to talk about - we're clearly going to take turns."

 

Korsak laughed into a snort, and the mood was lifted, if only a little. "Go on. Tomorrow's another day."

 

Brooks' chair squeaked when he stood, and with a final sigh, he said his goodbyes. He was nearly at the door when Jane called out, "Don't forget the fudge clusters." He raised his hand in acknowledgement and kept going.

 

She rested her chin in her hand, the emotional exhaustion slowly becoming physical. Before her body had a chance to shut down entirely, she dragged herself up to a standing position and stretched. The Chogokin stood as a silent sentry, and she touched it as she always did before she left work.

 

"Tomorrow's another day," she said.

 

.....

 

She had been here a thousand times in the past, standing outside Maura’s office, looking through the small window. It was just another step between the elevator and opening the door. But sometimes, it became a moment to simply bask in the moment, to revel in the beauty of the woman on the other side. Some days, it was golden curls that brushed against the crisp white lab coat while she bowed her head slightly to get a better look at whatever she was signing. Other days. it was a smile that peeked out when she saw something that amused her on the internet, hazel eyes dancing in delight. Today, it was the simple act of filing away reports. Having her back to the door allowed Jane to take her all in, from the soft waves down to the Louboutins. Her eyes wandered, fingertips tingling at the thought of running up toned legs. As if she had sent her thoughts through the door, Maura slipped out of one heel and lazily rubbed the top of her foot against her calf. Jane’s quiet laughter in the silent hallway drew Maura’s attention to the door. Her face lit up and filled Jane’s heart.

 

“Hey,” she said, stepping into the office.

 

“Hey, yourself.” Maura returned to her task at hand.

 

“I love you.”

 

Maura looked back. “I love you, too,” she said. There must have been something unspoken in Jane’s face, because Maura put down the rest of the files and walked towards her until bodies met each other. “Not that I will ever get tired of hearing you say that, but the public declaration is new. Is everything okay?”

 

Jane slipped her hands around Maura’s waist and kissed her deeply, pouring all she could never say into the moment. Pulling back, she looked into hazel eyes and smiled. “It is now.”

 

…..

  
  



End file.
